


Good Things Do Happen

by Doc_Emergency



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Castiel Out of the Empty (Supernatural), Dean Winchester to the Rescue, Episode Fix-It: s15e20 Carry On, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Love, M/M, Multi, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Episode: s15e19 Inherit the Earth, Post-Finale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:21:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 32,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29267916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doc_Emergency/pseuds/Doc_Emergency
Summary: After facing off against Chuck and saving the world, now it was time to get down to the business of living life...and moving on. Dean is struggling with the loss of Cas and adjusting to life without the looming threat of the end of the world. He would do anything to pull the angel out of the empty, and when demons come calling maybe he might just get one last chance to save him.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	1. Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> I have never posted on AO3 before and it's honestly been about 10 years since I wrote a piece of fanfiction (showing my age -_-). After the conclusion of Supernatural I felt, like many, that I had a different ending in mind. Ever since then it's been knocking about in my brain, and so I started writing this as a way to scratch that creative itch and put to paper (digitally) a different ending for these characters. Music is such an integral part of the show, so I have included some of my favorites from the show, and also some of my favorite songs in general. Kind of winging it so not sure how long it will be, but hopefully someone gets as much enjoyment from reading it as I am from writing it. Fell free to leave a comment if you enjoyed, or if you didnt!

_"Don't nobody tell me_

_That God don't have a sense of humor_

_'Cause now that I want to live_

_Well, everybody around me is dying_

_Now that I finally wanna live_

_The ones I love are dyin'_

_Becoming friends with a noose that I made_

_And I keep tryin' to untie it_

_Make it into something useful_

_Or maybe hang it through a window pane_

_Turn it into a fire escape…_

_If you know love_

_You best prepare to grieve_

_Let it enter your open heart and_

_Then prepare to let it leave"_

_Leave it Alone - Hayley Williams_

Dean and Sam sat in the bunker library, as they had done a thousand times before. Physically, the place was the same as ever - tables lined up between the mahogany bookshelves, a few lamps softy illuminating the wide space, the air filled with gentle hum of the 50s era electrical system. It had been home for so long, but now it felt empty - drained of the people that made it so. Having moments ago trudged down the metal stairs, Dean wasted no time grabbing a bottle of something strong. A nice 18 year old scotch to wash away the days events.

There wasn't much to say, and so they sat across from one another silently for a long time. Sam took a small sip of the caramel liquid and shuddered. His eyes were dark, his cheeks looked gaunt. _He's lost weight recently_ , Dean thought. He was sure he looked worse for wear too, they'd had some pretty terrible days - but this felt different. Maybe it was because it was actually over, with everything going on he had hardly any time to process. He grimaced, guess he had all the time in the world now to sort out his shit, but not tonight. Sam put his glass down, the sound knocking Dean out of his daydream.

"Maybe we should get some sleep," he said finally. Dean smiled bitterly and threw back the rest of his glass. He could still feel the lingering burn of adrenaline in his veins - sleep wasn't in the cards for him tonight.

He grabbed the bottle and turned it upside-down over his glass, the amber liquid gushing out. He would keep going until his lips started to go numb - his feelings usually followed suit. The entire day felt like some kind of drunken haze, what did they even do? The realization crept back into his mind again, for what was the third or fourth time since their faceoff with Chuck.

"We beat him," Dean said awkwardly, as if he was speaking another language. He smiled for a moment, as a manic excitement washed over him. No more insane plots, world-ending apocalypses, and unthinkable decisions to make. He, Sam and C-

His smile dropped.

"Yeah," Sam replied, flashing an awkward smirk, "I don't think it's sunk in fully yet." Dean finished another glass and slammed it down on the table hard enough to startle Sam. The sound reverberated around the bunker ominously.

"If we won, then why does it feel so crappy?" Dean looked at the glass, a thick crack now running through its base, filled with a twisted kaleidoscopic reflection of the bookshelves. Dean pinched the skin between his eyes as he could feel the tension in his temples tug painfully at his forehead. He looked at Sam and his chest ached. Sometimes, he could still see the kid that wanted to go to college, and all the terrible shit that had happened flickered through his mind like he was fast-forwarding a tape.

Sam didn't say anything, instead he stared intensely at his phone. Dean had noticed him checking it every few minutes like clockwork.

"She's ok, Sam. Jack brought everyone back, remember? She's probably looking for a phone to call you right now." Sam nodded silently and took another swig of whiskey.

"Yeah, I know. Can't help worrying anyway, until I see her." Dean watched Sam's eyes drift over to the other side of the table - to the small group of names carved into the wood. They spent their last hour in the bunker before confronting Chuck carving Cas and Jack's names into the table, joining the three Winchesters. Dean just wished Cas could have carved his own damned name.

Sam spoke, his voice so quiet it was almost a whisper.

"I wish they were here." Dean looked over at the names carved into the wood, taking another warming sip of whiskey. His cheeks were starting to flush with a familiar heat, which was a good sign. Soon enough he would be able to forget this day for a little while. He stared at the names long enough to notice a stray splinter sticking out from the 'C' in 'Castiel'. He leaned across the table and plucked the splinter out, before giving it a quick wipe with his fingers to clear out a few bits of dust left behind.

"Yeah, me too Sammy." As he sat back into his chair, imagines flashed in his mind like a bomb going off. A sad smile, tearful blue eyes - the last part of him to be swallowed in darkness. His chest heaved for a moment and he could feel his heart shudder against his ribs. He blinked and shook his head. Cas' words, playing like some kind of nightmare tape in his brain, repeated over and over.

_'I wondered what it could be, what - what my true happiness could even look like…'_

"Hey, Dean. You okay?" The words took a moment for Dean to register. He felt the usual urge to deflect rising in his throat.

"Yeah-" he stopped, and took another swig of his drink, "-actually, no. I'm not okay. I'm as far from ok as I could be," He said and Sam frowned. The words came out shaky, but it felt good to say it, to make it real. Sam's eyes flickered over and back, like he was trying to find the right thing to say.

"Me too. After everything I thought I'd feel differently. Maybe we just need some time - to process," Sam said while staring at his drink, gently swirling it around the glass. Dean watched the golden vortex, floating away into a daydream. Maybe I haven't checked all the books on the empty, he thought. First thing tomorrow I'll start with the angel lore.

Sam's phone buzzed against the table, and he grabbed it with remarkable speed.

"Hey," his voice was soft. "Are you okay?" Dean's shoulders relaxed when he heard Eileen's voice on the other side of the phone. If she was okay and that meant Sam was too. Sam strolled into the war room and talked on the phone quietly for a few moments.

"Okay, I'll see you soon." He signed something to the phone screen, his thumb, index and pinkie were pointing out and his other fingers were folded against his palm. Looked a bit like a rocker sign. Dean saw him use that sign at the end of their calls a few times and googled it. Turned out it meant 'I love you'. Sam put the phone down and gave Dean an unsure look.

"Is everything okay?" Dean asked, it was never too late for something messed up to happen, with or without Chuck.

"Yeah, she's okay thankfully. I'm going to go get her now. Are you okay to stay here?" Dean waved Sam's concern away.

"Yeah, don't worry about me - I'll be fine. Go to her." It was hard to watch him leave after everything that happened that day, but there were more people in the world than the two of them. Dean just wished he'd figured that all out a little sooner.

"Okay, we'll be back by the morning." Sam said and Dean flashed a smile. It felt alien on his lips, but it always came out like a reflex when he saw Sam's brow was furrowed like that. He gave Sam a small wave as he neared the top of the stairs. Sam stopped and looked down at Dean for a moment, before walking out the door.

The metal clang of it closing stung inside Dean's aching skull, and he turned back to the whiskey. He poured a glass before his eyes settled again on Castiel. The mere sight of it was enough to make him feel sick, reliving the words he heard while sitting in that exact spot.

_'I think its time for me to move on.'_

He grabbed the bottle and poured it down his throat. Then another. It took no more than 30 minutes for him to be staggering around the bunker, mumbling to himself.

"What were you thinking, you idiot." He didn't know if he was talking to himself or to Cas. _Both_ , he thought bitterly. The next few glasses of whiskey found their way down his throat easily, each one burning a little less than the one before. Soon he found himself staggering down the halls, the grey tiled walls dancing violently in his vision. Before long he stood at the door to his room, and he kicked it open hard enough to leave a dent in the wood.

The room was just how he left it before they went to face Chuck - the bed was made neatly in the event that he didn't return. He even cleared out the bottles that had been littered around the floor. He stood just inside the door, eyes tracing around the room in a mixture of fascination and misery. He didn't expect to see it again, but here he was. He smiled, as a little jolt of excitement shot through his body. They won, they were free. It was the ending that they fought so hard for.

His chest ached. The winners weren't usually the ones drunk and alone. The thought made him laugh -a bitter, cynical cackle.

He looked over at his desk where a small frame was propped up against the wall, beside a disassembled pistol. In it was a photo of himself, Sam, Cas, Jack and Mary. His eyes traveled across the photo, taking in each smiling face. Mary stood between him and Sam with her hand around their waists - flashing a wide toothy smile. Cas stood on the other side of Dean, with his arms draped over Dean and Jack's shoulders. He could feel their warm presence on either side of him like they were right there.

He walked shakily towards the desk and picked up the photo, gently caressing the glass with his thumb. Mary insisted for them all to take a photo, while everyone was alive and healthy. They had set up Sam's phone to take a photo on a timer, and they took about a hundred photos because one of them was always blinking or looking the wrong way. While they were setting up, Cas was explaining to Jack that humans put on a smile for photographs, and so Jack then flashed one of his signature dorky smiles. Dean remembered catching a glimpse of Cas, smirking serenely as the photo took - the sight of it warmed his chest. The smiles behind the glass transferred to his own lips, the memory softening his tense shoulders a little.

 _They're dead because of you._ His own thoughts shocked him. A panic sparked in his chest and his hands began to shake. He put the frame down gingerly as he felt his body rebel against him. He grasped his chest as it began to throb painfully, and his breath became ragged. He walked towards the bed, when his foot smashed against something, sending him flying towards it. He threw out his hands and they smashed against the mattress, his knees knocking against the hardwood floor with a sickening thud. His lungs pumped heavy and fast like he couldn't get enough oxygen in, but his breaths were shallow and painful. His body felt like it was going numb, and a uncomfortable tingle crawled up his neck and around his face.

His breaths soon transformed into quiet wounded whimpers, and then into short guttural sobs that burned in his abdomen. He covered his mouth as the sound of his own voice seemed to get out of his control.

"Fuck!" He shouted into his hand, and he could feel globs of spit collecting between his fingers. As he shuddered, he let his forehead slowly fall until it was touching the mattress. He stayed like that for a moment, allowing this confused ball of emotions to burst open. His mind tortured him with all of his pathetic wishes that were now impossible - he wanted to say goodbye to his Mom. She may not have been what he expected but he loved her all the same. It was little consolation but she was at least happy in heaven, they were never meant to have her back, so every moment was one he never thought he would see. Still, his heart ached for her, and how many more years they could have had if Jack didn't use up his soul saving them from Dean's mistake.

But Cas…that damned idiot, Dean thought. What was he thinking sacrificing himself like that? Who did he think he was saying all that crap and then getting himself killed? Another painful set of sobs erupted from his gut, as the thought he had been trying to drown came back to the surface. _Why didn't you say anything?_ It was Cas' last moments and he was too shocked, too stupid to tell Cas to his face how much he cared about him. He should have said something, anything. It just all happened so fast. The thought of it made his stomach drop like he was hurtling down the side of a rollercoaster. He slammed his fist against the bed, again and again and again and let out a furious scream into the mattress. He stayed there for a few minutes, face pressed into the bed and punching it with all his strength.

He grabbed the edge of the bed and slowly climbed up onto it, turning around and falling on his back. He stared up at the brick ceiling of the room, feeling his heart still banging against his chest. His sobs had died down now, he didn't have any more to give. Soon enough he felt his breaths begin to slow, as the numbness was replaced by a tired throbbing that spread across his entire body. It was an overwhelming wave of fatigue that only a lifetime of heartbreaks could conjure. His eyes drifted close and the longest day of his life finally came to an end.

* * *

Dean woke up on a damp pillow at around 1pm, as the smell of breakfast wafted down the hallway. He sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, his head throbbing painfully. He could feel it simmering under his skin, a sharp deep-seated anger that burned in the centre of his being. It was his constant companion, rearing its ugly head when things went bad, lashing out at everyone around him like a cornered animal. This time it had to be different, he had to be different. That wasn't who he was, right? He stood from the bed and took a deep, quivering breath, feeling the tension between his shoulder blades.

As he arrived in the kitchen, Sam looked up from the scrambled eggs he was tossing around the pan and grimaced.

"Did you sleep at all?" He sounded chirpy, a little too much for Dean's fragile state. The sounds of clanging cutlery gnawed at his aching head, and he could feel the anger rising in his body. He hummed back at Sam in response. Sam frowned. "You look worse than you did yesterday." He said and a empty chuckle erupted from Dean's chest. His stomach was still aching from last night, like a fresh bruise.

"Thanks man." Dean looked around the kitchen. "Where's Eileen?" He asked replied and slowly took a seat at the table. Sam had already put out three sets of cutlery, and steam rose lazily from the coffee pot at the centre of the table.

"She's still in bed, we got back pretty late last night." Sam said and Dean poured some into the cup beside him, a souvenir they had bought while they were on a hunt many years back. The cup had a pair of white wings on it and the words 'guardian angel'. He got it for Cas, even though he didn't really drink coffee. He could hear Cas' reply in his head clear as the day it happened, explaining how guardian angels did not exist under the hierarchy of heaven.

_'Goodbye, Dean.'_

The memory slapped him in the face. He inhaled sharply and threw the hot coffee down his throat. Not going there, not a chance.

"Someone is hitting the coffee hard this morning." Sam said as he put the plate of food on the table. Dean shoved the bacon and eggs into his mouth, the delicious aroma triggering a primal hunger deep in his stomach. As Sam sat across from him with his own plate, Dean put down his fork, talking with some food still in his mouth.

"You on the other hand… You're looking good, man." He said, and he meant it. Sam already looked fresher after a nights sleep. He was sure Eileen had something to do with it as well. Sam replied with a quick smile, before digging into his own breakfast.

"Jodie called this morning." Sam said, giving an unsure glance towards Dean.

"Is it a case?" Dean asked, while wiping a slice of bread in the grease on his plate. Sam cleared his throat, avoiding Dean's gaze for a moment. "What is it?" He asked, feeling a small sense of panic rise in his chest.

"No its not a case. She's wants us to come visit her and the girls, to regroup after everything-" he stopped for a second, looking apprehensive. "-and we should plan a proper funeral." Dean stilled.

"We already had a funeral for the hunters, for Mom." Dean's jaw tensed as he spoke. The words still stung, despite the time that had passed.

"Yeah, I know. I meant for Cas." Dean felt his breakfast flip in his stomach, and he gripped the piece of bread so hard it started to break apart in his hand.

"Well maybe he's not gone forever. You think about that before you started planning his funeral?" Dean blurted out before he could collect his thoughts. A pained expression flickered across Sam's face, and he put down his cutlery, meeting Dean's eyes.

"Dean, look, I get it. I want Cas back too. But you know as well as I do that there is nothing in the lore on the empty." Dean could feel his blood boiling under his skin. Sam was right. He had read every book about angels when Cas died the first time, and nothing came up. It was Jack who got him out the last time, and he was off planet by now. His head dropped and he struggled to push the words out of his mouth.

"I know man, I'm sorry. I can't go there yet. I'm just…" Dean trailed off, he didn't know what he was anymore. Confused maybe, or sad, or angry? His head throbbed. "He was so damned close to freedom," Dean's voice quivered. Cas was stuck in the empty, and for what? Because he felt real happiness for the first time in his damned life?

"It's okay, Dean me too," Sam said, pushing his breakfast around the plate.

"When's this thing at Jody's?" Dean asked reluctantly.

"Tonight." Dean nodded and drank the last of his coffee, and he could feel the grinds that pooled at the bottom of the cup scrape against his throat. He stood up and looked at Sam, who gave him those damn sad eyes again. He cleared his throat, but the lump stuck there since last night wouldn't budge.

"Well we better get going soon then, better get Eileen up." Dean said and took his plate to the sink.

"Yeah, she said she was going to meet us there later. She's meeting a hunter friend of hers, make sure she is okay after…everything." Sam said as Dean filled the sink with hot water.

"Well if you want to wait I can drive up to Jody's myself and you two go together." Dean knew his suggestion would be rejected, but he felt the need to try nonetheless. He put the dishes into the hot soapy water and started scrubbing.

"No, I'll go with you." Dean scrubbed a little harder.

"Dude, she just got here and you're going to leave her to drive with me?" He tried to sound nonchalant, but it just came out all angry. Sam sighed and walked over to Dean, who was staring into the bubbles.

"Yes I am. So drop it, please." Sam practically growled and quickly stomped out of the kitchen.

Dean lifted the plate he had been cleaning out of the sink, a broken shard of ceramic in his hand.

* * *

After what seemed like an eternity on the road, they were just one hour from Sioux Falls. Dean pressed the pedal a little harder, feeling the rumble of the engine in his feet. Sam had fallen asleep in the seat beside him, his mouth hanging open as his head laid back against the window. Dean watched his brother for a moment, out of the corner of his eye. He grimaced, thinking of what had gone down that morning. Things had been tense since.

Rain drops began to sprinkle on the windscreen, and before long the rain poured down hard, pelting against the metal of the car. Dean reached for the radio and turned the volume as a familiar melody floated into his ears, the soft strumming of guitars and the soothing harmonies of Bob Dylan.

_Mama take this badge from me_

_I can't use it anymore_

_It's getting dark too dark to see_

_Feels like I'm knockin' on heaven's door_

The rain belted the car harder as Dean's hands gripped the steering wheel hard enough to make his fingers feel a little numb. The burning feeling in his stomach was back, and he could feel his eyes sting and his vision blur a little. _Fuck this_ , he thought, trying to breathe his way out of it. As the song continued he could feel what little strength he had melt away. A tear trickled down his cheek.

_Mama put my guns in the ground_

_I can't shoot them anymore_

_That cold black cloud is comin' down_

_Feels like I'm knockin' on heaven's door_

He shuddered, and as a quick whimper escaped his lips, he quickly glanced to make sure Sam was still asleep. He wiped the tears as they pooled between his lips, his hand shivering. He exhaled sharply and slapped his own cheek hard.

"Get a grip, you can't walk into Jody's like this." He said to himself as a soft groan came from beside him. He quickly wiped his eyes, blinking them a few times for good measure. His voice dropped an octave. "Hey Sammy, we're still an hour away." Sam stretched in the seat beside him, mumbling a reply. In his periphery, Dean could see him staring for a moment before he laid back down and closed his eyes.

The road went on and on, as the car hurtled through the black abyss, the headlights illuminating little else other than the driving rain and the rough surface of the road. The darkness was punctuated by the occasional billboard or faded road sign. One such billboard caught his attention as it lit up in the path of the headlights. On one side of the black background was a blue sky and the other side was bright orange flames. Written between them, in bold white font were the words 'IF YOU DIE TONIGHT, HEAVEN OR HELL? 855-ASK-FOR-TRUTH'. Despite everything, Dean felt a giggle rise in his stomach, and he laughed until there were tears in his eyes again. He looked to Sam as he let out the last few chuckles. By all accounts he was still asleep, now with the whisper of a smile on his lips.

The last hour of the drive felt as long as the four before it, but eventually, Dean sighed in relief as he saw Jodie's house appear at the end of the street. The rain had stopped, and the streetlights left a glossy shine on the rain-soaked asphalt. As he pulled the impala in by the sidewalk, he let his head rest on the steering wheel for a moment. He hurt all over just a little bit, seemed like his resting state these days.

The sound of Jody's front door closing in the distance forced him to get out of the car. Her smile and her outstretched hands made Dean feel like a little kid coming home from a bad day at school. He crashed into Jody with a little more force than he intended, but she was tough and took it in her stride.

"Can't tell you how good it is to see you, Jody." Dean spoke into her shoulder, as she gently caressed his back.

"I was worried about you boys." She squeezed a little tighter. "I'm sorry about Cas. I know how close you were." She said a little more quietly, and Dean leaned away from her.

"How did you-" Jody nodded towards Sam, of course, he thought. Jodie and Sam hugged for a moment and Dean dusted his hands off his things awkwardly. He was going to tell Jodie, just not right away. These things take time to explain.

Those three words hit him like a truck, as he stood in Jody's front yard.

_'I love you.'_

His cheeks burned, how could he begin to explain it, when he could hardly even think about it without having some sort of breakdown? Jody's voice snapped him back to reality.

"Don't get mad at Sam, he's just looking out for you," Jody said, gesturing them to follow her to the house. Warm yellow light spilled from the window, and he spotted a blonde head of hair inside the kitchen. _Shit_ , he thought.

"Does Claire know?" Dean asked and Jody nodded, frowning.

"She has taken it pretty hard, but she'll be okay, eventually." Dean watched Claire as she stood staring out the kitchen window. He wondered would he be able to say that about himself someday.

Dean shuddered as he walked into the heat of Jody's living room. He looked over to Claire who stood in the kitchen throwing back a bottle of beer. Her eyes, framed by a thick layer of black eyeshadow, met Deans for a moment, before she quickly stormed out the back of the house. Dean's chest stung, when he felt the warmth of Jody's hand on his shoulder.

"Don't be too harsh with her, she's just pissed you didn't tell her sooner." Dean just stared at the spot where she had been standing. Everything had happened so fast, there was hardly time to process, never mind tell anyone else what had happened. He hadn't even told Sam all the details yet, and the more time that passed, the less he felt able to.

"I'll go talk to her." Sam said, and Dean wanted to tell him _no, I'll go_. But something in his was reluctant, no , _afraid_ to talk to Claire about Cas. He watched Sam walk out the door and all he managed to do was ball his fists.

"Hey, are you okay? You look…" Jody trailed off and Dean felt a defensive smile pull at the corners of his mouth.

"Like hell?" He asked and she frowned.

"Lost." He laughed reflexively before he could think of what to say. _Fuck, why are you laughing? She's right isn't she?_

"Guess it's my reward for saving the world." He said, his mind crying out to him. _Tell her you feel like shit, that everything feels meaningless, that you want another hug._ "You got any beer?" He asked instead.

"Sure." Jody walked over to the fridge and Dean fell back into the couch, staring up into the lampshade on the ceiling. Blue spots swirled in his vision when a bottle of whiskey appeared above him. He looked to Jody who gave him a sad smile. "I thought you might want something a little stronger."

They settled on the couch with two glasses of scotch, and after a few moments of silence as she poured the drinks, Jody threw her legs up on the couch and faced Dean. She leaned her elbow against the back of the couch and stared at Dean in a way that made his skin crawl, like she was reading his mind.

"You won't talk to Sam. Tell _me_. What happened?" It was the first time in a while she talked to him like a mom would to her son.

"With Chuck?" He asked, already knowing that's not what she meant.

"No, with Cas. Sam said you haven't said a word about it since he died." Dean cursed Sam in his mind, he was going to tell him… eventually. He needed time to figure things out, to calm down.

"It's just…" he drank the full glass of whiskey in three seconds, the alcohol numbing his tongue and lighting a fire in his stomach, "…it happened so fast. There was no time." He could feel his tongue seize up under the pressure of his words. But, something pushed him forward, and as the words came they started to spill out of him like vomit. "Death…Billie, was trying to kill us, and we locked ourselves in a room in the bunker. We had nowhere to go. Cas was saying that there was one thing that could go toe-to-toe with death." The memories of Cas' tear-filled eyes, and that final contented smile as his body was engulfed in black plasma, made Dean want to _actually_ vomit. "He made a deal, to save Jack. He would summon the empty, the place where angles go to die, when he was…truly happy." Something flickered in Jody's eyes as he spoke.

"This…empty, why would he summon it, if it would kill him?" She asked softly, and for a moment Dean didn't think he could answer. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, feeling his heart pounding harder with each moment. He smiled, and it twisted into a grimace as he spoke.

"The stupid son of a bitch, he was trying to save me." Dean felt the saliva build at the sides of his tongue, as another wave of nausea crashed over him.

"What happened next?" She asked, her voice softening even more. Dean cringed at the sound of it, the pity and the care. He longed for it, but at the same time his body rejected it.

"In order to summon the empty, He...He said-" Dean stopped dead. At the time, he knew where Cas was going as soon as he started his little speech, that it was going to end with _those_ three words. Even so, he couldn't bring himself to say anything back. He couldn't say what he had wanted to say, and before he could take a breath, Cas was gone. "He said…" Dean trailed off again. Cas died for him and he couldn't even _say_ it. His stomach burned, and he wanted to be swallowed up by the empty as well.

"It's okay, Dean. You don't have to say-"

"He said he loved me." The words burst from him like a sneeze, and he sat deadly still, leaning over his knees. He couldn't look her in the eyes. In his periphery, he swore she looked like she was smiling.

The doorbell chimed, giving Dean a jolt. Jody's glared at the door, before learning over and grabbing his knee.

"Stay here, we're not finished." As she went to the door, Dean fled to the kitchen. His heart was beating so hard against his ribs it was starting to hurt, and the pain stretched all the way to the tips of his fingers. He gripped the kitchen counter, and he could hear Donna's voice behind him, distant and blurry.

"Are you okay? You look pale." Sam's voice startled Dean. He stood in the open door to the garden.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a bit hungover."

"Hey, Dean. You should talk to her. She wants to know what happened to Cas," Sam said gesturing to Claire. She sat on a bench at the back of the garden, in the shade of a weeping willow. She was sitting very still, looking down at her feet. Dean took a deep breath. He'd prefer to take on a vamp than face Claire. She probably blamed him for Cas' death, he could hear her cursing him out in his mind.

"Okay, yeah. Go inside, Donna just arrived," Dean said and Sam edged past him into the kitchen. Dean felt a hand on his shoulder as he walked out, and Sam gestured toward Claire.

"Go easy on her, she's hurting too." Sam's last word hung in the air for a moment, _she's hurting too_. Dean didn't miss the implication, and he was right. He leaned into the warm feeling of Sam's hand on his shoulder for a moment. A small comfort, but he held on to whatever he could get these days. They exchanged a silent nod and Dean took his time strolling over to Claire, who still hadn't looked up from her feet. She was cradling a white cat plushie in her arms.

"Hey kid." As she looked up at him, the moonlight streaming between the branches reflected in her tears. He sat down beside her and raised his hand hesitantly around her shoulders. She leaned over towards him and he curled his arm around her, feeling the icy cold outside of her coat. "You're freezing cold," He said rubbing her arm to warm her up. She smiled sadly as another tear rolled from her eye. Dean watched helplessly as it trailed down to her jawline.

"Does it ever get easier?" Claire asked, her voice quivering. He didn't need her to clarify what it was.

"We've lost so many people over the years. Still hurts like hell every time." His voice cracked pathetically as he spoke. He cleared his throat, but the lump was firmly lodged in there. It felt like it had been there ever since _that_ day.

"It's like…" Claire paused for a moment as if unsure what she wanted to say. She wiped the tears from her cheek with her sleeve and continued. "Cas was… complicated," She said and Dean couldn't help but smile bitterly at the description.

"That he was…" He mumbled.

"But he was good at heart. He cared about us, he loved us - in the ways he knew how." Claire said and Dean's heart broke for what felt like the thousandth time that week. Her lip quivered as she looked up at him. "Did he suffer? In the end…" Dean's hands started to shake.

"No…actually, he died with a smile on his face." He said . Claire let out a strange laugh, and more tears pooled in her eyes.

"Okay, that's good to hear, all things considered." They sat quietly for a moment, the sound of the cold night air lazily shaking the branches above them. As he watched Sam, Alex, Donna and Jody chat in the kitchen a thought occurred to him. There was a face missing.

"Where's Kaia?" Claire grimaced at the mention of Kaia's name. She stared down at her sleeve, pushing a button around mindlessly.

"We had a fight, so she went for a drive to get some fresh air." Claire mumbled and Dean couldn't help but frown, thinking of a fight he had not too long ago.

' _Why does that something always seem to be you?_ '

His chest ached, and he turned to Claire, grasping her shoulders gently.

"I don't know what happened between you two, but take my word for it. You don't know how long you have with someone. So make things right _now,_ " Dean said, wishing someone could have told him the same that night in the bunker. Claire was a lot like him, he could see that plain as day. She deserved better than making all the same mistakes he had.

"Okay, Dad," She sneered, but her cheeky smile dropped like a stone when she met his eyes. He felt a strange sense of melancholy watching his own reactions play out in someone else. Was he this obvious too? After a moment of tense silence, she took out her phone. "Okay." She gave him a soft smile, and he could see Kaia's name appear in her phone as she began to type out a text.

Dean spotted Eileen in the distance as she came in the front door. He stood from the bench, reaching out towards Claire.

"Come on, before you freeze over ." She grabbed his hand and he pulled her up, walking her back to the house with his arm over her shoulder. When he met eyes with Eileen, she ran over and crashed into him hard enough to knock the air out of his chest. He hugged her tightly and shared a little smile with Sam, who watched the exchange fondly. Dean let go and held her shoulders at arms length, his heart bursting with joy at the sight of her golden-brown eyes.

"Glad to see you safe, Eileen." She gave him a sweet smile, before its dropped a little.

"I heard about Cas. I'm sorry Dean." Dean grimaced, feeling a weary anger rise in his chest at the mention of Cas. How many more times did he have to hear those words, _I'm sorry_.

"Yeah…" He trailed off, staring at the linoleum floor of the kitchen, "…me too." The room fell into a somber silence, before Donna's cheery voice cut through the morose atmosphere.

"Well I think we deserve to celebrate a little right, these two did save the whole world…again!" Dean chuckled, her positive energy was a little infectious, despite just how down-in-the-dumps he felt all the time. In the day since their confrontation with chuck, the last thing on his mind had been celebration. Jody passed around glasses of whiskey and bottles of beer, when the doorbell rang. Claire ran to answer it and reappeared moments later with a stack of pizza boxes in her hands.

"Food's here!" She said and everyone filed around them and began opening the boxes. Dean stared at the pizza sitting on the dining room table, as everyone grabbed a slice of their favorite flavor. He looked at the swirls of red tomato sauce and bright yellow cheese, and felt his stomach flip sickeningly. Jody, who was chowing down on a slice of spicy pepperoni, caught Dean's look and frowned.

"Hey, you better eat fast before it's all gone." Dean sighed and took another swig from his beer. Booze was the only thing that went down smooth these days.

"I'm not that hungry actually, so enjoy." She raised an eyebrow at him and Dean shrunk a little under her glare. "I might eat the leftovers later, if there are any, just not in the mood right now." Sam, who had been chatting to Eileen on the other side of the table, looked at Dean for a split second and frowned. _Shit_ , Dean thought, _he's going to want to have a 'talk' on the way home._

Jody took a slice or two from each pizza and put them on a plate in the microwave, giving Dean a pointed look.

"Well, now there _are_ leftovers, so these better be gone before you both leave." She said pointing her finger at him. Dean gave her a salute.

"Yes Ma'am!" She rolled her eyes and reluctantly left Dean alone.

After everyone had their fill of pizza, they moved into the living room - Dean fell into an empty armchair across from Sam and Eileen and everyone else got comfortable around the fire. At everyone's insistence, Sam recounted in detail the story of their standoff with Chuck, and Dean listened silently.

As the night progressed, everyone started to pair up. Sam and Eileen were bundled together under a blanket, signing things to each other in secret. Claire laid across Kaia's lap as the two chatted away in their own world. Donna and Alex chatted on the other side of the room, telling hilarious stories from the sounds of their laughter. The sound of happy chatter and laughter echoed around the room, which became louder and drunker as the night passed. Dean's aching heart eased a little watching Eileen laugh at a story about Sam so hard there were tears running down her face. He looked to an empty chair sitting between him and the couch, that nobody had used all evening. He imagined a tan coat hanging on the back of the chair, and Cas sitting down with two fresh beers in his hands, handing one to Dean with a lopsided smile.

"Dean. You okay?" Claire's voice shattered the illusion, and the chair was empty once more. She looked worried, sitting up at the edge of the couch staring intently at him.

"Yeah, why?" In that moment he felt a warm tear trickle down his cheek. He quickly wiped his eyes, feeling the weight of the worried eyes that were now trained on him. The room fell silent for a moment, when Eileen stood and raised her beer high above her head, looking up at the ceiling. Like everyone else by now, she was drunk and wobbled on her feet a little as she spoke.

"To defeating God, and to all those we lost on the way." Everyone stood, raising whatever drink they had in their hands.

"For Mom…and Bobby." Sam spoke first, followed by Jody.

"For Sean and Owen."

"For my parents." Claire said, her voice quivering a little. She looked to Dean, who raised his bottle and dropped his eyes to the carpet.

"For Cas. Without him the world would have ended." Dean said, a little more sheepishly than he intended. He could feel everyone's eyes on him, and his cheeks burned a in response. He stared intently at the carpet when he felt a hand intertwine in his. It was Claire. She raised her beer again and gave him a sad smile.

"For Cas." Everyone raised their glasses in response, and the room repeated Dean's toast once more.

_For Cas._

* * *

Dean twisted uncomfortably on the couch, the back of his head buzzing with energy. After around 1am, people started leaving for bed one-by-one. Jody had one spare room with a double bed, which was going to Sam and Eileen with no argument from Dean. He was happy to take the couch, hell, he slept in much worse places. The living room was dark and static, the light of the streetlamps casting long shadows across the room.

It was so quiet, he could almost hear his own beating heart. Only a few hours before, it was full of the sounds of life - laughter, talking and even shouting. He thought about the bunker, and whether it would feel like this when Sam eventually left with Eileen. His heart flipped, and knocked about nervously in his chest.

He bolted up in the couch and threw off the blanket. His body was buzzing with energy, and he wanted to climb out of his own skin just to get a break from it. He threw on his boots and jacket with his pajamas, when a squeak of wood echoed from the stairs. He whipped around to see Claire standing there, leaning against the doorframe. She had something in her hand, but it was too dark to see what it was.

"Can't sleep?" She asked quietly. Dean chuckled.

"Not really, too much to think about." Dean said quietly. She walked closer to him, the dim light from the street illuminating her red and puffy eyes. His heart hurt at the sight. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Guess I have too much to think about too." She took his hand and gently gave him what had been in hers. It felt smooth, like silk. Dean moved it into the light, when the striped blue pattern came into focus. He let the fabric unfurl from his hand, it was a necktie. He looked to Claire, who gave him a sad smile.

"He came around a few times, and I stole two from his car. I don't care if it's lame, reminds me of my Dad…and of Cas too." Dean stared at the tie, his mouth hanging open a little. "I thought maybe you would want one." Dean was speechless, feeling his eyes sting with the beginnings of tears. He tried to talk, and instead let out a tiny squeak. Clearing his throat, he grabbed Claire into a hug, feeling her arms gripping his shirt on his back.

"Thanks, kid." He said finally, his voice breaking. He leaned back, seeing fresh tears were running down her cheeks. He wiped them away and she sniffed quietly.

"I miss him. He should be here with us." Her usually tough demeanor was gone, and for the first time in a while, Dean could see her for what she really was - just a kid. She was in her early 20s, sure, but Dean knew all too well that didn't mean jack if your childhood was as fucked up as hers. People like her, like himself, never really got to be kids, and never really grew up either - like some kind of fucked up Peter Pan. Dean gripped her shoulders and gave them a squeeze.

"Yeah, I wish here was here too. But he wouldn't want you to be too broken up about it." Dean said, and gently caressed the top of her arm in an effort to comfort her. Claire looked right into Dean's eyes and sighed.

"You know, I could say the same to you." Dean huffed and pointed to the stairs.

"Yeah well, I'm a lost cause - but you're too young for that yet. Go on, try get some sleep." She walked towards the bottom of the stairs when Dean called out to her. "Hey. " She turned towards him, and he squeezed the tie between his fingers. "Thanks, for the gift." Claire nodded and headed back up stairs, giving him a silent wave as she walked out of view.

Dean looked at the tie for a moment, and it felt like a lead weight in his hand. He folded the tie up gingerly and took it with him as he went out the front door. 

The night was icy cold, and Dean was starting to regret staying in his pajamas as the night air nipped at his skin. The street was quiet, the only sound was the rustling of the trees in the chilly breeze. The passenger door of the impala squeaked open, and he gently laid the tie in the glovebox, beside a small red ribbon. He lifted the ribbon out, a rough red material with the word 'STAMPEDE' written in the kind of font you'd see on a western poster. He smiled as a memory played in his mind, warm and golden like a sunny day.

_'Alright these Dodge City cops aren't likely to trust big city folks, so we're gonna have to blend.' Dean said and Cas looked at him, concerned._

_'Which is why you're making me wear this absurd hat.'_

Dean felt a shadow of the feelings he experienced that day - pure elation that Cas was back from the dead, excitement at getting to play Texas ranger for a day, a sense that things were finally starting to look up again. What he wouldn't give to go back, warn himself what was going to happen. He ran his thumb over the rough edge of the ribbon, and his smile faded. _If only I'd known, maybe I could've stopped it_.

The sound of footsteps in the distance snapped Dean back to the present. He quickly put the ribbon back in the glovebox and grabbed an angel blade from the trunk. Most people might have taken the sound of steps at night as innocuous, but Dean had learned a long time ago that assuming the worst was the _only_ acceptable reaction. Being wrong meant being dead.

A figure emerged from behind a tree in the distance, and Dean squinted trying to get a better look. It seemed to be a middle-aged woman, with long bleach-blond hair and a lot of makeup. His hand gripped the hilt of the blade tighter as the woman strutted her way toward him. She wore a fully leather outfit - pants, boots, jacket, which shone in ripples as she swayed beneath the streetlights.

"Dean Winchester in the flesh." Her sultry voice raised the hairs on the back Dean's neck. She gave him a toothy grin, and her eyes flickered black. Dean's body tensed. He quickly looked towards the house, there didn't seem to be anything happening in there - maybe she was alone. _Fuck, do they know where Jody and the girls live?_ He instinctively reached for his pocket, for his phone, and cursed under his breath when all he felt was the soft fabric of his pajamas. Dean pointed the blade towards her and she stopped a few steps from him, smirking.

"Come any closer and it'll be the last thing you do." Dean growled and she winked at him, letting out a giggle that made his skin crawl.

"Oh come now, you're not the first man whose tried to kill me. Maybe the first one in pajamas." She said, checking him out. Dean's hand twitched around the blade.

"What are you doing here?" He snapped and her smirk grew to an ugly, toothy grin.

"I'm looking for your angel friend, Castiel. Word on the street is that he once escaped from the empty." Dean felt a red flash of rage shoot through his body at the mention of Cas. He took a step closer to her, slow and deliberate like predator stalking prey. Her smiled faltered and she stepped back from him.

"Cas is _dead_ , and if any more of you black-eyed fuckers come looking for him, or anyone else I care about, rest assured I will kill every last one of you." Spit flew from his mouth as he spoke, and he felt a sense of satisfaction as the last remains of her smug smile twisted into fear.

Before she could take a breath to reply, Dean lunged at her, sweeping his leg under hers. She dropped to the ground, her head smashing against the asphalt with a sickening thud. He pounced on her, digging his knee into her stomach and perching the blade against the skin of her chest. She whimpered as it drew a little blood.

"Wait- I'm know someone who can-" Dean stopped for a moment, feeling the rage burning in the pit of his stomach. He dug the blade in a few centimeters and she shrieked.

"You dare to come this close to my family, better be ready to die." Dean said, plunging the blade into her chest. The dim amber light flickered under her skin before she fell limp. He held on to the blade for a moment, his body vibrating with rage, before standing up and letting out a moaning sigh. He looked up and down the street, which was still as empty as it was before.

"Well, shit." He sighed and threw the corpse over his shoulder. He wrapped it up and left it in the trunk of the impala, feeling the weight of sleeplessness dragging him down. The pyre could wait until the morning.

He collapsed back into the couch, feeling his shoulder tug painfully as he pulled the blanket over him. The words of the demon sparked a new kind of anxiety inside him, and questions flew around his head like flies. Why did she want to talk to Cas? And what did it have to do with him coming back from the empty? He could have found out more if he had captured her, but the blade was in her chest before he had the chance to have a rational thought.

He sighed pressing his hands over his face. There was no rest, no end to the damn onslaught of supernatural problems that came their way. Maybe life without Chuck was just as shit as life _with_ him. Dean groaned against his hands, before throwing the blanket over his head and curling towards the back of the couch.

He laid there for a painful eternity, feeling the burn of his rage wane with each passing minute. Eventually his eyelids started to get heavy, and his body felt weak. He fought it for a long as he could, but as his eyes fell closed, his mind returned to the dungeon as it had every night before. He took a few deep, shaky breaths and let the tiredness take him.

He dreamed that night - of old movies, cowboy hats, and bloody handprints.


	2. Taking a break...or breaking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to those who have read and enjoyed - and thank you for the kudos/bookmarks. Chapter 2 originally included a lot more but the word count was getting a bit insane so I've split it up into two chapters instead. Another angsty ride in store, hope you're ready!

* * *

" _Now, here you go again_  
 _You say, you want your freedom_  
 _Well, who am I to keep you down_

_It's only right that you should_   
_Play the way you feel it_   
_But listen carefully, to the sound_   
_Of your loneliness_

_Like a heartbeat, drives you mad_  
 _In the stillness of remembering what you had_  
 _And what you lost_  
 _And what you had_  
 _And what you lost_ "

_Dreams - Fleetwood Mac_

* * *

His eyes flickered open to Jody leaning over the couch, gently shaking his shoulders. The morning sun streamed through the curtains, and Dean somehow felt less rested than he had when he fell asleep. He sat up in the couch, his mouth stretching wide for a yawn. Jody was in her uniform, which was not a good sign.

"What's up Jody? What time is it?" Jody looked to the clock and smiled.

"Its 8:30. Wish I could have let you sleep in a bit later but we have a problem." Jody said and Dean, grimaced, remembering the body in the trunk.

"Yeah, we have more than one." Jody cocked an eyebrow and Dean wiped his hand down his face, taking a deep breath in in an effort to freshen up. His head still felt like he was half asleep.

"What do you mean?" She asked apprehensively.

"There's a body in my trunk." Jody gawked at him.

"What?" She folded her arms, glaring at Dean, who swung his legs over the edge of the couch, feeling a twinge of pain as his toes touched the carpet.

"I went for a walk last night and a demon appeared. Took care of it, except for the body that is." He grinned at her, and empty gesture, which disappeared when he heard a sigh of genuine worry from Jody. Her face twisted up in concern.

"They've never come around the house like this before." She said and Dean grimaced, the guilt eating at his stomach. They were there looking for him after all, and for Cas. "What did they want?"

"Actually.. she was looking for Cas. " Jody stared at the floor, deep in thought. Dean felt the urge to fill the silence. "Well, jokes on them because he's dead."

" _Dean._ " Jody warned, and Dean looked away from her intense stare. She opened her mouth to speak, when her phone buzzed. Checking it, she sighed again, running her hand through her hair. "Look its fine, we'll deal with that later. I got a call this morning, someone discovered a _different_ body - a middle aged man." She gave Dean a pointed look. "His throat was slit and his body was drained of over 80% of his blood."

"Vampires?" Dean asked, and Jody shook her head.

"Apparently, he was found surrounded by 'demonic' symbols'." She said, using air quotes. Dean nodded, and grabbed his bag where he kept his suit.

"Where's Sam?" Dean asked, while pulling the parts of his suit from his bag.

"Still in bed I think. Was going to get him up next."

"No, no. Leave him be. Besides, we need someone here in case more demons show their ugly faces. The two of us can take this one, right?" Dean said. His eyes drifted to the stairs, a smile settling on his lips at the thought of Sam happily sleeping in the bed with Eileen. They were just reunited, they deserved to have some time together.

Dean ran upstairs to put on his suit. In the bathroom, he dug through his bag, looking for the red tie he thought he packed before leaving. After rifling through it several times and dumping everything out on the floor, it was clear he didn't bring it. His mind drifted to the tie in the car, and he felt a pang of guilt at the thought of him wearing it. He went downstairs and Jody gave him an unsure look.

"No tie today agent?" She asked jokingly.

"I have one in the car." Dean replied sullenly and they walked out towards the impala. Dean walked ahead of Jody and opened the passenger door, reaching into the glove box for the tie. He popped his collar and draped it around his neck, when Jody walked over and grabbed the ends.

"Here, let me." She folded it expertly and tucked it under Dean's jacket, when the sound of rushed footsteps came from the door. Claire, who was still in her black and white pajamas, stood there with her arms crossed.

"Is it a case?" She asked, and Jody pointed a finger at her.

"Yes, but you are staying put, you hear me?" Claire rolled her eyes and stomped over to them.

"But I-"

"Thanks, kid, but we got this one covered. Better for you to stay here in case any black eyed sons of bitches visit. Think you can handle that?" Claire whipped around to face Dean ready to give her usual snarky response. Her eyes dropped to the tie, and her façade crumbled.

"Yeah, okay… Nice tie." Dean smiled and smoothed his hand down the length of the silky material.

"You think so?" He replied, feeling its weight against his chest comforting. Claire smiled and adjusted it every so slightly.

"Yeah, make sure you don't lose it." Dean met her eyes and nodded.

"Never."

* * *

As Jody drove to the medical examiners office, they discussed the particulars of the case. A 40-year-old man was found on an abandoned construction site with his throat slit and was missing a large volume of blood. Dean chatted intently, perhaps more than usual, about the case, desperately filling any empty space with work. The events of the night before flickered in his mind, and he grimaced. The body was still in the car. Better that it's dealt with sooner than later. Dean quickly shot Sam a text.

_D: Hey Sammy, went toe-to-toe with a demon last night, body's in the car. Think you can take care of it?_

Not ten seconds later came a reply.

_S: Dude, seriously? What happened?_

_D: I'll explain when I get back._

When he looked up from his phone, he realised a silence had fallen while he was texting. _Shit_ , he thought, _just say something random, anything._ His mind was as blank as a sheet of paper, and he started at his phone screen, seeing the scared look in his eyes reflected back at him. Jody finally spoke, while turning the radio down a little.

"So, are you going to talk to me? Or should we keep talking about the case to waste time?" Dean kept his eyes firmly on his phone as she spoke. There was little need to lie to Jody, especially after everything that happened. So he let out a shaky exhale, and looked over to her.

"It's just hard…to talk about it," Dean managed to push out in a tense stutter.

"I know. But you can't keep something like this to yourself, its not good for you," Jody said, and Dean huffed. He knew that, he could already feel the weight of it all eating him up inside. But knowing what's good for him and _doing_ what's good for him are two very different things. "What happened, after he told you he loved you?" Jody asked, so gentle like she was afraid she might break him. _Maybe she will_ , Dean mused, as his heart sped up in his chest.

"Nothing." Dean replied. "The empty took him." Jody sighed beside him, and he stole a glance in her direction. Her eyes were distant and sad, like she was reliving a bad memory.

"I'm sorry Dean, that he only got to tell you at the end. It's not right." She said, and Dean's hands gripped the edge of his seat hard. There was that word again, _sorry_. He knew she meant well, but the sympathy was starting to give him indigestion. He felt it swell in his stomach, that familiar fire - angry and red and…hurt.

"What isn't right is that I didn't- I _couldn't_ say anything. Then he was gone." His breathing picked up and he tried to keep himself from having another fit of tears.

Dean swayed in the seat violently as Jody pulled the car over into the shoulder.

"Get out." Her voice was stern, and Dean was shocked into silence for a moment.

"What?"

"You heard me, get out." She repeated and Dean pushed the door open, a little shaken by her sudden change. Jody quickly opened her door, and she rushed around the front of the car towards him.

"What are y-" She wrapped her arms around him and gently pulled his head down until it was resting against her shoulder. He felt her hand rubbing the top of his back.

"You didn't deserve this, Dean, you didn't deserve any of it." Jody whispered and Dean felt something crack inside him. He reached up and wrapped his arms around Jody, gripping the smooth fabric of her coat. Soon he could hear a primitive, sorrowful groan come from between them. When he took a shuddering breath in to cry again, he realised _he_ was making those sounds - like some sort of injured animal. He howled into her coat as he felt her grip around him tighten a little. He could hear her muffled voice from within the hug.

"It's okay, let it out." And so he did. For a while, the entire world disappeared, and there was only him and Jody, locked in a sorrowful embrace. There were a few more pained groans, wretched sobs, and grief-stricken words spoken into her shoulder as she gently caressed his back. After a few moments Dean felt lucidity wash over him again, and his body began to calm down. As he let go of Jody, there was a small damp spot on her shoulder where the tears had soaked in. He tried to wipe it, which of course did nothing.

"Sorry." He said, sniffing pathetically. Jody held his shoulders, staring into his eyes.

"Don't be." She wiped a tear from under his eyes and he couldn't help flinch at the touch. "Did you think about, you know, telling him what you wanted to say? Like a eulogy?" Jody asked as she wiped another tear away. Dean frowned, feeling a burn in the pit of his stomach.

"What's the point, if he can't hear it?" Dean whispered and Jody gave him a sad smile, caressing his cheek.

"It's not for him Dean, its for you."

* * *

Soon after they reached the station, they decided to divide and conquer - Jody would go see the body and Dean would interview the husband. It took him only ten minutes to walk from the station to the not-so-modest townhouse where the victim lived, but he still cursed the demon in his trunk the entire way. Walking places wasn't exactly his style, and his feet usually started to ache if he walked too far in his leather 'FBI' shoes. He stopped outside the house and just stared at it.

"Holy crap." He whispered. The place was enormous, endless windows with bright white frames, and deep burgundy brick walls, with tall ornately carved pillars on each side of the door. The sickly sweet scent of flowers floated from the beds in the garden, and when the door opened as he approached, the smell of mint.

"Come in agent, the Sheriff told me to expect you. I'm Carl Wilkinson, Dave's husband." Dean nodded and crossed the threshold, giving him a firm handshake. Carl wore a navy knitted sweater, and his dark hair was artfully gelled into a slick wave. "Please just take a seat in the living room, I'll be with you in a few minutes."

Dean sat down in the immaculately decorated living room and couldn't help but gawk. The walls were stark white, adorned with endless modern art paintings, statues, mirrors and other decorative pieces all the way up to the ceiling, which must have been at least 15 feet high. The floor, expensive-looking dark wood, was covered by a huge crimson carpet - an intricate multicolored pattern woven through the middle. The furniture was a set of unusually-shaped armchairs and couches, like something a 1980's interior designer thought the future would look like.

He stood, feeling the aches in his legs getting angrier, and strolled around the room. Between the paintings and statues, there were endless portraits of two men. In one they were wearing ski gear on the side of a snowy mountain, arms around each other's waists. Beside that in another photo, the two men looked much younger, in full army gear sitting on a tank in the desert. On the mantlepiece, beside a small golden statue of some greek goddess, they both wore perfectly tailored suits - one in a mid-tone grey with a pink tie and the other with a navy suit and black bowtie. They laughed heartily while looking into each other's eyes, and their hands were interlaced. Dean smiled, they looked happy together - and he had come to understand just how rare that was.

Carl brought a small tray with a kitsch teapot and cups, setting it down on the glass coffee table. Dean turned to him, pointing at the photo of them on the tank.

"You served with your husband? Afghanastan or Iraq?" Dean asked. Carl smiled, strolling over to the photo.

"Yeah, not exactly the typical 'how we met' stories. Served in Iraq for 6 years, and Dave saved my ass more times than I could count." Carl said.

"How does that work, being with someone in the military?" Dean asked as Carl straightened up the frames on the mantlepiece.

"Honestly, I couldn't pluck up the courage to tell him at first, and I don't think our Staff Sargent would have approved." Carl reached out and touched the picture, his hand shaking almost imperceptibly. "I was going to wait until we were home, but one night our convoy hit an IED, and Dave got hurt badly. I told him I loved him that night by his stretcher, took him another 4 months to say it back." Carl let out a chuckle, and Dean grimaced.

"That's gotta hurt." Dean said and Carl looked at him with a sad smile.

"He wasn't the type for grand speeches, he said it to me in the small ways - a little bit every day. Hearing him say it was just the icing on the cake." Tears pooled in Carl's eyes as he spoke.

"How did you know? I mean, that he was- Iraq isn't exactly the kind of place that screams romance." Carl laughed, and a tear spilled down his cheek. He stared at the photo with a half-smile, and his eyes seemed to glaze over as he spoke.

"Dave was a tough guy, sure, but he cared about people in a way that I had never seen before. And nobody else could understand where I'd been, what I'd seen. When I got home my family couldn't figure out why I didn't just slot back into normal life; but Dave understood me. Without him I'd probably be homeless on the side of the street somewhere." Dean sighed quietly to himself, seeing flickers of a dense forest, and a scruffy beard.

_Focus, Dean. You've a job to do._

He cleared his throat and gestured toward the chairs.

"I just have a few questions, Mr. Wilkinson and then I'll be out of your way." Carl nodded and poured two cups of mint tea, his hand still shaking. Dean took a sip and shivered as the hot liquid hit his stomach. He settled back into the seat as Carl blew his nose, using a light grey monogramed handkerchief. He fell into the chair, taking a deep breath and his hand began to steady.

"Okay, I'll answer any questions you have to the best of my ability. And call me Carl, please."

"Thank you, Carl." Dean said and Carl nodded, wiping his eyes. They were tinged with red all around the edges, as was the bottom of his nose. "Can you take me through what happened last night?" Dean asked and Carl took a deep breath.

"We were making dinner for a few friends, when I realised we didn't have any white wine. I asked Dave to go get some before the store closed. When he didn't come home I called the police, and then earlier this morning, I got a call…" Carl trailed off, and his lip began to quiver. Fresh tears pooled in his eyes. Dean leaned towards him, resting his hand gently on his knee.

"Hey, I get it, I know this is really hard. We just need to know everything we can to figure out who did this to your husband." Carl below his nose again, this time making a stomach churning wet sound. "Do you know where he went after that?"

"Well…" Carl sniffed, his nose audibly blocked up. "He would usually go to the nearby whole foods but actually that was already closed at that time. So I told him to go to the small store a few blocks away and see did they have any decent wines"- terror flashed in Carl's eyes - "I sent him to his death, didn't I?"

"Of course not!" Dean replied more sternly than he had intended. He softened his posture. "You could have never known when he left what was going to happen. Can you think of anyone who would have wanted to harm Dave?" Carl shook his head vigorously.

"No, Dave was as straight as they come. Well… you know what I mean." Carl's mouth twisted into a little smile, and he let out a little giggle. Dean felt his own lips turn up into a smile, letting out a quiet chuckle. They smiled at each other for a moment, before both their smiles faded, and they let out a weary sigh in unison.

"Have you ever lost someone agent?" Dean's jaw tensed and he looked at the space between his newly-shined leather shoes.

"Yeah, actually, I did. My best friend." Carl hummed sadly and looked into his eyes with an intense, knowing stare.

"How long ago, if you don't mind me asking?" Carl asked tentatively. Dean cleared his throat, feeling a lump rise painfully from his chest.

"It, Uh- it's been a week." The words burned on their way out. How could it have only been a week - it felt like ten years. Carl leaned back in the couch and looked to the ceiling, letting out a few quiet sobs into his handkerchief. Dean shifted in his seat, when Carl dropped his head, and met Dean's eyes with an empty stare.

"How do you keep going, without them?" Carl's question pierced the somber silence. Dean had only one honest answer.

"I don't know."

* * *

Dean knocked gently on the door of Jody's office and she lifted her finger, pointing at the phone at her ear. Dean gave her a silent salute and strolled around the office, pushing his cold hands into his pockets. The rest of the desks in the open plan space were unmanned, and only two ceiling lights in the corner of the room kept the darkness at bay. It was a small department, and such a gruesome case had all their Sheriffs out on the search for the killer.

Most desks were piled high with poorly organized pieces of paper, laptops decorated with coffee stains and crumbs and an endless number of disposable cups. The air in the office was stale, the musty smell of a carpet that hadn't been changed since the 90s. There was one spotless desk, however, that stood out like a beacon. Dean picked up the nameplate on the desk - owned by an officer Angelo Gil. Sitting by the nameplate was a small white statue of an angel - dressed in armor and its wings outstretched, as if ready to take off. Dean admired the statue for a moment, and a smile grew on his lips. The figure was very graceful and dainty, with smooth lines and perfect features. His image of an angel was a little different - scruffy, a bit clueless; no armor just poorly fitting clothes. The sword too, didn't look anything like an angel blade. The angel's face was that of a teenager, but there was something in it's tilted head and one-sided smile that was comforting. 

Jody's voice startled him back to reality.

"Dean, we have a lead." Dean walked into her office, which was as chaotic as the other desks. The chair squeaked as he sat into it. "I just got off the phone with a local woman. She spotted a suspicious group around an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town. Said she swore she saw one of them had back eyes." She turned to Dean, folding her arms.

"Sounds like our kind of thing," Dean said and Jody nodded, throwing on her coat. "Well, this has got to be the fastest hunt in history. Let's kill these sons of bitches so we can get back to the others." They wasted no time in leaving the office. As they passed the desks on the way out, Dean eyed the now empty space where the angel statue used to be, patting the small lump in his jacket pocket.

They pulled up outside the warehouse, making sure to park a few hundred yards down the road. Dean loaded their guns with devils-trap bullets. He felt a fear gnawing at the back of his head that he had ever quite felt before, as he clicked the cold metal barrel of the gun into position. They newfound freedom was a blessing for sure; but free to live also meant free to die at any time, with no promise of ever coming back - just like Cas.

"You don't look so good," Jody said and put her hand against his forehead. He leaned away from her touch, swatting her hand gently.

"No, I'm fine. Just thinking about things." She raised an eyebrow as he handed her one of the demon blades.

"Like what?" She asked tentatively, her eyes filled with worry. He sighed and started loading another gun, moving the bullets from their box into the barrel mindlessly.

"Just that…y'know-" his hands stopped, "-things are different now. No higher power to stop us from being taken out." He picked up the last bullet and looked at it sitting in his palm. Jody took the bullet from his hand and put it into the barrel, gently pushing it closed. She looked up at Dean and gently cupped the side of his face.

"You don't need any higher power - you've got us," she said and he leaned against her hand. Dean took Jody's hand in his and squeezed it.

"Thanks Jody." He looked into her soft eyes, and felt a pang of guilt. Looking out for Dean usually meant dying because of him, eventually. It was just a matter of time. He threw the now loaded gun toward her and she caught it deftly, slipping it into the holster on her belt.

"You don't have to thank me, that's what family is for." They shared a smile, and finished getting their supplies together in relative silence.

The area around the warehouse was so drab and grey, Dean felt like he was seeing in black and white - the rain-soaked concrete, the tall scratched metal walls of the warehouse, and the gloomy overcast sky above. Dean drew in a few tense breaths, the smell of fresh rain and metal on the air. A red sedan was parked near one of the side doors, standing out from the grey surroundings like a warning. He looked to Jody and she nodded back.

"Lets go." She said and Dean followed suit.

They stalked silently towards the door, eyes trained on any possible route of attack and hands gripped tightly around their guns. As they neared the rusted door on one side of the warehouse, Dean gently pulled the latch open, holding the door. For a moment they shared a silent look, a hunter's prayer that they both make it back to Jody's place alive. Dean felt the adrenaline burn in his veins and the familiar thumping in his chest. There was a certain intoxicating rush from the pure primal fear that hinting instilled. It was his fuel, and his poison.

He motioned to Jody, he goes right, she goes left. Jody nodded in agreement and Dean kicked the door with all the strength he could muster. A twinge of pain shot up his leg as it collided with the door, and as he rushed in, painful cramps gripped his leg with enough strength to cause him to stumble. When he looked up into the warehouse, he stopped. There was nobody there. 

Instead, in the centre of the huge concrete space, there was a table. He squinted, trying to see what was on it, when he noticed what was on the ground. A huge sigil, one he had never seen before, stretched out around the table in red paint. Dean grimaced, least he hopes its red paint.

Jody sighed and put away her gun. "Looks like we missed them. You ever see anything like this?" She asked, and as they neared the table, Dean's nostrils burned with the smell of iron. He looked down at the sigil, still shining in the dim grey light of the warehouse. He crouched on his heels, and wiped his finger in the cold liquid. As the drop perched on his skin of his finger, there was no doubt it was blood.

"Never seen a sigil this big before, especially one drawn in blood." Jody looked down at the red lines and her face twisted in disgust.

"You'd need a lot of blood to draw that. Explains why our victim was missing so much." She said, her voice shaking a little. Dean stood, looking at what was on the table. It was just a small plastic picnic table with a black velvet cloth draped over the top of it. Sitting atop it was a large golden bowl, with carvings of gruesome-looking creatures on the outside. They howling faces twisted around each other, like some kind of cloud of despair. There was something about their pained expressions that reminded him of a place he would rather never think of. He looked in the bowl, trying to calm the thoughts of hellfire. The contents of the bowl were just a pile of ash now, already burned up in whatever spell had been cast. Beside the bowl was a more familiar object - a hefty silver syringe.

"They did some sort of spell, and something tells me they needed angel grace for it." Dean said and Jody walked up beside him.

"Why do you say that?" Dean picked up the syringe and showed it to her.

"This bad-boy is used for extracting grace, we have one in the bunker." Jody looked at it intently, her brow creased with concern.

"This must be pretty serious stuff then," She replied and Dean rolled the syringe around in his hand, his mind drifting to the night before. The demons were looking for Cas, had they intended to use his grace for some kind of spell? He took out his phone and started taking photos of everything, including the sigil, Sam would be able to make sense of this, now that he was basically a witch himself. He looked to Jody, whose worry had only deepened.

"Don't worry, we'll get to the bottom of this." Dean said, placing a gentle hand on her arm. She looked at him and smiled, putting her hand over his.

"You know, you deserve a break, Dean. Especially after everything that's happened. Why don't you let me and Donna handle this for now?" Dean's hand tightened around Jody's arm.

"Jody, I can't…What am I supposed to do if something happens to one of you?" He felt the panic rise in his throat, at the thought of getting a phone call from Claire in a few weeks time. _Jody's dead_ , she croaked in her grief-stricken voice.

"Dean, you don't have to take everything on alone. I'm a pretty good hunter myself, else I wouldn't still be here." Dean shook his head, his mind running away from him as he can almost feel the searing heat of a funeral pyre.

"Jody, I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if I let something happen to you or Donna." Jody huffed and put a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Dean you're not _letting_ me do anything. We can handle this," she said her hand squeezing his shoulder a little. Dean sighed, feeling the bubble of panic settle into a burning anxiety at the pit of his stomach. "You said to me a while ago, that you wanted out of the life. Well that's never going to happen if you keep jumping head first into the next hunt. Go home, get some rest and start living your life." Dean sighed, his hand beginning to shake. That was easier said than done, how could he sleep at night knowing there were people out there that needed him. Living his life could mean letting others die. He searched in her eyes for any sign of doubt, but she stood there resolute. She seemed more sure than Dean was, and yet, he was considering it. He pointed at her, poking her arm a little.

"You're gonna call every day with updates, and if something isn't right you _tell me_ straight away. Promise?" Jody's eyes flickered between his hand and his face, and she looped her pinkie finger around his.

"I promise."

Jody went back to the squad car and called in backup from the station. Dean followed her out, feeling suddenly very useless. After talking on the radio for a few minutes, Jody opened her phone and put it to her ear.

"Hey, Sam. I need to sort out this case, can you come pick up your brother." She stopped for a moment and Dean heard Sam voice, distantly crackling through the phone. "No, he's alright. I'm sending both of you away for some well deserved rest." She listened to the phone, and her mouth gently turned up into a smile. "Yeah we can handle this, and I am under strict orders to report back if anything goes amiss," Jody said, giving Dean a pointed look. "Thanks Sam, take care of yourselves, okay? Bye." She pocketed her phone and gave Dean a smirk. "Your brother didn't take much convincing to take a break. Maybe you should take a leaf out of his book." Dean scoffed and smacked her arm.

"Sam is the sensible brother, so that leaves me to be the daredevil." He grinned at her unimpressed stare.

"But we agreed, no more hunts right? You're going to become the sensible brother or I'll come after you myself." Jody scolded, Dean held up his hands in surrender.

"I swear Jody, I'm gonna take a break. The first thing I'll do when I get back to the bunker is put my feet up and take it easy." Jody beamed and folded her arms. _This is gonna be good,_ Dean thought, despite the swirl of nerves that was giving him a stomach ache.

When Sam arrived in the impala, complaining about needing to burn a body first thing after he woke up, Dean hopped in and felt a small kernel of hope sprout in his chest. Maybe this really could be the start of his life, a _real_ life.

* * *

Dean sat at the table in the library, freshly popped beer in hand, the cool condensation nipping at his hand. He threw his legs over the table and took a swig, enjoying the cold bubbles dancing over his tongue. He looked around the empty room, just looking at things quietly for several minutes. He checked his phone every few minutes, waiting for the next update from Jody. When nothing came through, he spent some time counting just how many bricks there were between the floor and the ceiling. It was forty-two.

He sighed, ready to count them again, when he felt a burst of shame. He was supposed to be living his life, enjoying his freedom; and yet, here he was, counting the bricks in the damn wall. He stood and paced into the war room, then back up the stairs in the library. What exactly do people do when they aren't researching a case or dealing with some kind of earth-shattering emergency? He sighed again, when he noticed something on one of the filing cabinets in the library. He walked closer, as it came into focus - a thick layer of grey dust settled on the polished wood. When he checked the top of the bookshelves (by climbing on to an unsteady chair of course), he saw the same - a fuzzy coating of dust. He hopped off the chair, suddenly knowing exactly what he wanted to do.

One hour, a brush, a bucket, a mop and a duster - and the library was sparkling. He put the broom away in the closet, feeling a twinge shoot up his back. He rubbed at the spot gently, and couldn't help finding the humor it in all. Dean, who had faced monsters and demons and God himself, was finding that an intense cleaning session was leaving him with aches and pains. His mind snapped back to the warehouse, and the shooting pain that traveled up his leg as he kicked in the door. There was a dull ache left over every time he walked on that leg. Guess this was what getting older felt like.

He smiled. _I'm getting older_. The thought made him feel giddy. Most people probably felt a creeping sense of panic as their body became older, or stood in front of a mirror, eying their wrinkles with concern. Dean, on the other hand, rushed to the bathroom suddenly, staring at himself in the mirror. His face was not as smooth as it used to be, and there were lines sprouting form his eyes like spider webs, and yet more lines that danced lazily across his forehead. He rubbed his finger along one of them, his smile growing.

He never thought he would see the day, that he would get aches and pains from normal things, that he would have _wrinkles_. The thought of it made him practically manic, and he all but skipped his way down the hall to continue cleaning up. His next target - sorting the cabinets.

He spent what was probably another hour, opening each drawer and making sure what was in there was supposed to be there. Of course, after years of panicked research sessions and needing to leave the bunker at a moments notice, most things were in the wrong place. So he diligently reorganized every file in the room, until they were back in perfect alphabetical order. He also sorted each letter by date, and was particularly proud of that.

As he opened the last drawer to be sorted, marked "Miscellaneous", there was only one thing in it. He picked the object up, turning around to get a good look at it in the light. It was a statue of a warrior holding an ornate staff. Looked to be of Incan descent, his armor and staff painted gold, while the rest of the statue was a deep shimmering jade, with swirls of light and dark green dancing on it's surface. It was so intricate, it really was beautiful.

He pushed the drawer closed and stood up, a piece like this should probably be in the dungeon. For all he knew it could be cursed. Dean grimaced, looking down at the statue. _Maybe I should have checked if it was cursed before touching it,_ he thought. He stopped for a moment, waiting for his head to fall off, or for some kind of portal to open in the air. When the bunker remained as quiet as it had been all evening, he looked at the statue and shrugged.

"Guess you're just a statue for once." He bounded down the hall toward the dungeon, humming a tune as he went. Something was gnawing at the back of his mind, like he was forgetting something important, but when he pushed harder to remember, its seemed only to slink its way further into his mind. As he walked down the tiled hallway, he could hear Sam and Eileen's movie playing down the hall, the pleasant sound of their chattering and laughter like music to his ears.

As he entered the dungeon, he gently pushed the door closed behind him, looking for a spot on the shelves to put the statue. He put it down beside a few cardboard boxes, patting it on the head. He stared at the statue for a moment, feeling that sensation again - like he was forgetting something important. It was on the tip of his tongue. Maybe if he went back to the library, it might jog his memory.

He turned to leave the bunker and froze.

Painted on the back of the door in blood, was the sigil that Cas had used to keep Billie out. The blood had long dried, cracking and crumbling on the wood, but he could still see it clear as day. He took a few tentative steps towards it and reached out, feeling the rough scratch of the dried blood on the smooth wooden surface. He pressed his hand to the door as it started to shake violently. He looked into the room, towards the chair that sat in the centre of a devils trap. A figure in a trench coat appeared there, smiling at him as tears spilled from his bright blue eyes. His heart jumped in his chest.

"Cas?" Dean croaked, and stumbled towards the chair, his lips quivering. His heart throbbed against his ribs, so hard that it was staring to hurt.

"Goodbye Dean." The figure replied, and Dean ran across the room, hand outstretched towards Cas'.

"Cas, no!" He roared, desperately trying to close the distance between them. In one stomach-churning second the empty unfurled from the wall snatching him away, just as his fingers were about to brush against Cas'. He looked around the now empty room, feeling his chest heaving so hard he thought he might explode. He gripped his chest and hunched over, feeling an intense tingle spread inside his skull.

He suddenly felt the urge to throw up, and he room began to spin violently. His hands and feet began to go numb as the darkness crept through his vision. Soon enough there was nothing at all.

The first thing he noticed was the sound. It was like someone was talking on the other side of a window - muffled and foggy. _Who is in my room right now, I just want to get a little bit more sleep_ , he thought grumpily. The next thing he noticed was a weight, spread throughout his whole body. Something switched on and he felt a heaving numbness transition into a dull, paralyzing pain. He groaned, and noticed that he could make a sound.

_Where am I? What was I just doing?_

The room suddenly became much more clear, and the voice finally registered with Dean. It was Sam. What was he doing in his room?

"Dean? Can you hear me?" His body started to hurt more, and he could start to feel an intense tingling at the end of his arms and legs. There was a bitter taste at the back of his mouth, like the taste of blood.

His eyes flickered open to a worried face, and he smacked his lips together for a moment. His eyes drifted around the room lazily. This didn't look like his bedroom, what was going on? He finally became aware of his position, lying on his side on the ground, when his side started to throb - along with his jaw. A hand grabbed his face, and again Sam's worried face filled his vision.

"Dean, say something. Are you with me?" Dean nodded, before finding his voice.

"Yeah, I'm here…Where am I?" Sam sighed and lifted Dean from the ground. His body felt like Jell-O, all wobbly and soft. It took all the energy he had to walk alongside Sam as they went through the door.

"You were in the dungeon. What happened?" Dean shook his head, as his ears began to ring loudly, the screeching sound sending a stinging headache to his temples.

"Ugh- Ah, I don't know. I was-" His foggy mind struggled to put it all together. 

Sam walked him to his room letting Dean down gently on the bed. By now, Dean felt fully awake, and the throbbing in his side and jaw had started to become almost unbearable, as did an intense stinging pain in his mouth. He leaned over towards the small bin beside his bed, spitting into it. He eyed the liquid in the bottom of the bin, bright red against the while plastic bin liner. He looked to Sam, opening his mouth.

"What's wrong with my tongue?" He asked, and Sam winced as he looked into Dean's mouth.

"Looks like you bit it." Sam said and it was Dean's turn to wince as he closed his mouth. He cradled his jaw in his hands and sighed.

"I think I passed out." He said quietly. Sam stood, grabbing Dean's elbow.

"We should go to the hospital." Dean bristled at the suggestion, pushing Sam's arm away.

"No, no. I'm fine. I was just-" He stopped himself. _I was just reminded of watching Cas die_. "-I was just tired. Spent all evening cleaning the bunker, must have just overdone it." Sam's eyes darted around his face, looking almost sick with worry. He looked to the door, and back at Dean.

"Okay, but if you feel dizzy again, I'm taking you to a hospital." Sam said, his posture tense. Dean waved him away.

"I'm fine, was just a fluke." Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. He stood from the bed and gave Dean a weak smile.

"Ok, get some sleep."

Dean nodded, and when Sam closed the door behind him, his head fell into his hands. He sat there for a few minutes, in the warm darkness of his palms. _What the fuck?_ It was all he could think. What was he, some sort of damsel in distress, going around fainting because of Cas? He'd feel embarrassed if he wasn't so miserable.

Soon, his throbbing jaw started to subside, and he trudged over to his mirror, his limbs still weak and uncoordinated. He winced when he saw himself - the centre of his lips were stained with blood, and the side his face was an angry crimson. He touched the red spot and a shockwave of pain shot through him, causing him to flinch. That was going to be a nasty bruise. He walked back over to the bed and fell back, his side crying out in pain as it hit the mattress. He stared at the ceiling light, as still as a corpse.

Was it always going to be like this? The flashbacks, the fainting, the feeling of weight in his chest that never really seemed to clear. Was he going to feel this way for the rest of his life? A thought stilled his breathing for a moment.

_You're never going to see him again_.

His eyes darted to the bottle of whiskey by his bed. This time, however, he didn't drink it. Instead he dragged himself from the bed, picked up the bottle, and threw it at the mirror as hard as he could.

* * *

Dean sat watching the black screen of his phone, his leg tapping wildly against the granite floor of the kitchen. Sam and Eileen sat across the table, two cups of hot coco sending pillars of steam toward the ceiling. They exchanged a look that irked him.

"What?" Dean snapped through the silence. Sam cleared his throat and opened his laptop, typing away. Eileen took a sip of her drink and sighed.

"We're just worried about you, Dean," She said and Dean recoiled in his chair, gripping the edge of the table hard.

"Nothing to worry about here, I'm doing just great." Eileen frowned and his stomach burned with regret. He couldn't help snapping when they hardly gave him a moment alone for the entire day. It was painfully obvious what they were doing; ever since last night, when Sam came in to see Dean passed out in the dungeon, they have been glued to him. It was an accident, he didn't even think that being there would cause such a strong reaction.

"Dude we are just trying to help, don't be such a dick." Sam snapped, and Dean raised his hands in surrender. It was getting harder and harder to keep himself calm.

"I know…I'm sorry. I'm trying my best here." He said, mentally scolding himself for just how pathetic he sounded. A pair of hands reached across the table and held his. He looked up to Eileen, her pitying eyes making him squirm.

"And we are going to be here for a long as you need." He didn't say he needed them, but he didn't have to. There was no hiding just how shit he felt anymore, especially after his damsel moment. He nodded, feeling a lump form in his throat as he tried to speak.

"I'm gonna get a beer." He said and stood abruptly, heading for the fridge.

"Think we're out man." Sam replied, and Dean swiveled around in shock.

"Seriously? Fine, I'm going on a beer run then." Sam and Eileen stood from the table, and Dean's arm shot out furiously, his finger pointed at them. "Not a chance. I'm going alone." They reluctantly sat back down, and Dean plodded noisily up the steps to the hall. A few minutes of peace and some beer at the end, win-win.

His nose burned as he climbed out of the impala into the night air. The unnatural white light of the Gas-N-Sip sign illuminated the crackling concrete surface below. Another light, a twisted pink and blue neon sign saying 'we're open', flickered rhythmically in the window. The lot was empty, and even the road beside the station was strangely quiet. Only the occasional breeze interrupted the silence. As he walked towards the door the buzz of the lights intensified, and he felt tension rise in his temples at the irritating sound.

The bell chimed as he pushed the door open, echoing into the empty shop. Behind the counter, a spotty-faced teenager with messy blonde hair sat slouched against the cigarette shelf, engrossed in a book. Dean strolled over to the fridge, lifting a box of PBR out. He arms ached, and the box felt heavier than he remembered. He trudged over towards the counter, grabbing a bag of M and M's while balancing the box of beer on his knee. He dropped the box on the counter, and the cashier looked up from his book, a bitter scowl on his youthful features. Dean smiled at him, out of spite more than anything, but he continued to scowl.

"You know, frowning will give you wrinkles." He joked and the cashier rolled his eyes, while scanning the M and M's.

"You'd know all about that." He mumbled, and Dean's smile dropped. "That'll be fifteen ninety-nine please." Dean rooted around in his wallet for a moment, before throwing a few scrunched bills. He grabbed the box of beer, feeling the heat rise up the back of his neck. He reached he door, pushing it open with his leg, before the words came spilling out.

"You should show some more respect. You'd all be dead if it wasn't for me and my brother." The cashier looked at Dean as he expected him to - like Dean was some crazy old guy ranting. As he walked back to the car, his head muttered at him incessantly. Damn ungrateful kid, he has no idea the shit that's out there. _He'd cry for his mom if he saw half the things I did._ He stopped, standing next to the impala as a icy breeze gently rustled his jacket. _Doesn't know how lucky he is._

The drive back was quick and quiet, on account of him leaving the radio off. As he left behind the street lights, he noticed just how incredible the sky looked that night, clear enough to see all the stars. He stopped the impala at the edge of the road beside the bunker. When he got out, his mouth fell open in awe.

"Woah." He whispered a plume of condensation into the night air. The pitch black sky was alight with hundreds of stars, like the entire milky way was right above him. He opened the box of beer and pulled one out, using a nearby stone to swiftly pop the lid. He leaned against the hood, and stared up at the endless shimmering dots splattered across the sky.

It didn't take long for his mind to wander.

_It was a few years back and Dean had just finished a hunt with Cas - a pretty big vamp nest in Arkansas. They spent their last night sitting in deckchairs out by the motel pool with a few beers, staring up at the stars. It was a summer night then, so the air was thick and heavy, enough that they didn't even need jackets. Of course, Cas still wore his coat._

_'Have you seen stars, up close?' Dean had asked, and Cas' features softened into a nostalgic smile._

_'Yes, a long time ago.' Dean's world was rocked by this admission. The nerdy little guy sitting beside him had been to space, and seen what the friggin' stars look like up close! It was easy to forget that Cas was millions of years old, an incomprehensible ethereal being whose true form was something out of a horror movie. Dean had never seen him like that, but every now and again he would get little glimpses of just how incredible he really was._

_'Cas that's awesome! What are they like?' Cas had chuckled at his response and Dean didn't care how silly he sounded. There were three things that everyone could agree were cool - muscle cars, cowboys and space. Cas looked up to the sky, and a strange expression flickered across his face._

_'You know, I prefer the stars from here. Up close they are big, and angry and incomprehensibly hot - like enormous cosmic furnaces. But here, on earth, they are like sparkling gemstones in the night sky. It's beautiful really.' Dean leaned back in his chair and admired the sky as Cas spoke._

_'So you prefer it down here? With the hairless apes?' It was meant to be a joke. Cas looked at him, with a sincere smile that lit up his eyes like the stars above them._

_'There's nowhere I'd rather be.'_

Dean, who was now lying across the hood of the impala, began to shiver. He threw the rest of the open beer back, the bitter taste hitting the back of his tongue. He sat up and let out a long shuddering sigh. Closing his eyes for a moment, he did something he had not done in a while. He prayed.

"Hey Cas. I know you probably can't hear me. I just w-" He bit his lip, as he felt the ache in his chest rising into his throat. "I miss you, buddy. You would have liked the sky tonight." As he slid off the edge of the hood to his feet, his mind started to sing.

_I LOVE YOU. I LOVE YOU. I LOVE YOU. I LOVE YOU._ It took him by surprise and he stopped in his tracks. He shook his head and his mind was quiet again. He took the rest of the beer inside, and let out a sigh of relief to see that Sam and Eileen were not waiting for him. He put the beer in the fridge, when his mind rang again.

_I LOVE YOU. I LOVE YOU. I LOVE YOU. I LOVE YOU._ His mind raced enough to make him feel dizzy and his hands flew up to cover them, the image of Cas' final moment spinning through his head at a thousand miles an hour.

_I LOVE YOU. I LOVE YOU. I LOVE YOU. I LOVE YOU._

"Stop it. Stop it!" He roared and staggered for a second, the words playing over and over and over. He knocked against something on the counter, sending it flying. It shattered against the ground, and a piece of it slid across the room, bumping against Dean's shoe. The shard of ceramic, looked to be from a mug, read 'Guardian Angel'. He picked up the shard in his quivering hand and stared at it for a moment, horrified. His eyes darted around the kitchen, looking for the rest of the pieces, which had ended up in just about every corner of the room. He scrambled across the ground, gently collecting the pieces into a pile.

"Fuck." He muttered, feeling his eyes start to sting. He didn't have many things left belonging to Cas, the guy wasn't much for 'worldly possessions'. He pushed the pieces together helplessly, did they even have glue in the bunker? _Shit, there's some pieces missing,_ he thought as his stomach burned. He jumped, letting out a soft yelp as one of the pieces sliced into his finger, and a bead of bright red blood oozed out. Dean sat back on his heels, as a crushing wave of despair washed over him.

He was dead and gone. No more nights watching classic movies, going on hunts together, sharing a glass of whiskey in the early hours of the morning after a long day. He would never hear his voice again, or see him smile. A thought which had been shoved down into the deep recesses of him mind, exploded into his mind like an erupting volcano. _Even if you get to heaven, he won't be there._

He barely registered the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. Sam's voice came from beside him.

"What happened?" Dean looked up at Sam's worried expression. He looked back at the broken mug, and again at Sam, who frowned deeply.

"I-the mug… " Dean spoke like a sad little boy, and in that moment he felt like one. Sam walked over and knelt beside him. Warm arms enveloped Dean and he held on to Sam for dear life.

"He's really gone, Sammy. Forever." Dean whispered into Sam's shoulder as he hugged him a little tighter.

"Yeah, I miss him too." Sam replied quietly.

They didn't speak for a minute or so, just the occasional sniff or shaky breath filling the miserable silence. As they released their hug, Dean cleared his throat loudly, and avoided Sam's gaze. Sam surveyed what remained of the mug and grabbed a mixing bowl from the cupboard, brushing the shards into it.

"It's not too bad, we might be able to glue it together." Sam said, and Dean sighed. He reached into the bowl and took the piece with 'Guardian Angel' written on it.

"It's okay, I'll just keep this." He put it in his pocket and Sam took the bowl to the bin, giving Dean an unsure look.

"You sure you don't want to-" Dean shook his head.

"Nah man. Besides, seems a little appropriate, doesn't it? A broken angel?" His voice cracked as he spoke, and an empty smile stretched his lips. He could feel how dry they were, the skin stretching painfully. He played with the piece of ceramic in his pocket for a moment, feeling the smooth unbroken edge, and the rough uneven surface where it had cracked. Sam poured the rest of the shards in the trash and Dean's stomach twisted in shame.

"Sorry Sammy, didn't mean to be such a mess these last few days." Dean couldn't meet his eyes.

"Don't apologize Dean. Cas was family. But we're going to get through this together, okay?" Sam squeezed Dean's shoulder reassuringly. Dean smiled, feeling the beginnings of a headache between his eyebrows.

"Okay." He whispered back. He took a shaky breath, the throbbing of his head starting to intensify. He looked at the clock in the bunker, it was only 7pm but he suddenly felt very tired. "Think I need to sleep." He muttered and ambled past Sam, who followed him diligently down the hall until they passed his room. He stopped at the door and turned to Dean.

"Let's do something fun tomorrow, get out of the bunker for a day. What do you say?"

"Yeah, sounds good." Dean said, his voice hollow. Feeling a little out of it, he pushed open the door of his room. He gave Sam, who walked back down the hall watching him, a silent wave as we walked in through the threshold. As Sam rounded the corner down the hall, something in his periphery caught his attention.

There was something small and black on the ground, in the hall that led to the dungeon. As he got closer it became obvious what it was - a tape. Dean lowered down to pick it up, squatting for a moment as he inspected it.

_Deans Top 15 Zepp TRAXX._

He stared at it for a moment, like it was the most precious thing on earth. He looked up and down the hall, wondering how he hadn't noticed it there before.

_Cas must have dropped it_ , he thought, _when death was after us._ He smiled running this thumb across the wilted paper label. _He must have kept it in his pocket._ There was something comforting about that, a little piece of humanity travelling around with him, a piece of Dean.

He returned to his room and opened the tape deck on his radio, gently slotted the 'Zepp Traxx' tape in. He pressed play, knowing what the first track was - Black dog. But that song wasn't what played, and instead after a moment of white noise humming from the speakers, the fifth track played. He sat back in the chair as the gentle strumming of the guitar made his chest throb like an open wound.

_'There's a lady who's sure all that glitters is gold  
And she's buying a stairway to heaven  
When she gets there she knows, if the stores are all closed  
With a word she can get what she came for  
Ooh, ooh, and she's buying a stairway to heaven_

Dean started to sing, so quiet at first that he could barely hear it. Then his voice rose, as he felt the music take over his mind.

_There's a feeling I get when I look to the west  
And my spirit is crying for leaving  
In my thoughts I have seen rings of smoke through the trees  
And the voices of those who stand looking  
That's you_

And it's whispered that soon, if we all call the tune  
Then the piper will lead us to reason  
And a new day will dawn for those who stand long  
And the forests will echo with laughter  
Remember laughter?

As the music continued, he reached for the bottle on the bedside table. He diligently replaced it after shattering the previous one against his now cracked mirror. He threw the liquid down his throat hungrily. It burnt on the way down, a little more than usual, and he shuddered as the warmth hit his stomach. He laid in the bed, and closed his eyes, letting the music swirl around him. As the final notes of the song faded to silence, he stood up and stopped the tape. He let his finger lay on the stop button for a moment as thoughts flew at his mind like darts at a board.

_'I wonder if he listened to it a lot?'_

Cas had a tape deck in his car, he must have played it while driving. Dean strolled back to the bed and took another swig from the bottle.

_'I should have given him more music to listen to while he was around._ '

If Cas liked Zeppelin, he was sure to like AC/DC, Styx, hell maybe he would have even liked some Fleetwood Mac. He remembered hearing Cas hum stairway to heaven while he read some lore for a case. Dean didn't say anything at the time, just enjoyed the vibrating bass in his voice. Maybe it was his favorite song.

_I should have gone alone to face Billie._ The thought invaded his head before he could stop himself.

He stared at the picture on the dresser across the room, and Cas' serene smile.

_I should have said something._

His hand was beginning to shake, and his teeth were pressed tightly together - enough to hurt his jaw. He went back to the bottle, and tried again to drown his mind in whiskey.

He had more nightmares that night - which is to say, he was simply reliving his own memories. Walking through the trees to see the burnt pile of ash where his mother was killed, wandering an earth where everyone else was wiped out, watching his best friend die because of him. It felt like an eternity of terrors had passed before he heard a gentle knock on the door.

He sat up, his entire body stiff and sore. He looked at the clock, it was already 10:00am.

"Yeah, what?" He said, his voice cracking and gravely.

"It's Sam. I wanna show you something." Dean groaned and fell back on the mattress, the fall sending a sharp sting to his temples.

"Come back later, I'm too hungover for this." Dean croaked.

There was a moment of silence, and Dean threw the blanket over his head. Then, Sam's voice came again.

"You're gonna to want to see this." Dean sighed and rolled his eyes, ripping the cover off. He got up, feeling a sharp twinge in his back as he stood. He stomped over to the door, every step feeling like he was made of lead. He opened the door to a very fresh looking Sam, who was holding a piece of paper toward him - it looked empty.

"Look what I saw on my run this morning." He flashed Dean an excited smile and flipped the sheet around. Dean blinked, his vision still a little hazy.

**_LEBANON'S FIRST ANNUAL PIE FESTIVAL_ **

_Come see some of the finest pies from the state of Kansas!_

_Featuring free samples, competitions and more!_

As Dean read the flyer, despite how sore he was and how his heart ached like an open wound, a flurry of excitement rose in his stomach. Not just pie, but a whole damn festival just for pie! He grabbed the flyer, gawking at the for a moment as he couldn't help grinning like a kid. It may not have been the kind of win he wished for, but pie had never failed to lift his spirits before.

"Dude, we have to go, when is it?" He scanned the flyer and saw the date. He looked up at Sam, who grinned.

"If you hurry we will be in time for when it opens at 12." Sam said, when his nose crinkled, and he pinched it closed. "Take a shower dude, you stink." Dean lifted his arm and took a small sniff, his breath catching in his throat. It truly was an awful smell - that sickly sweet whiff of sweat that only copious amounts of alcohol could produce.

"Yeah gonna go wash myself in bleach." He grabbed some towels and ran full speed for the shower.

He didn't care how loud he was, as he sang _Cherry Pie_ at the top of his lungs.


	3. A piece of pie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on "Good Things Do Happen":  
> Jody convinced Dean to take break and let her handle the mysterious demon activity in Sioux Falls. Naturally Dean wasn't having a swell time while taking a break, until Sam appeared one morning with a flyer for the Lebanon Pie Festival
> 
> Hope everyone is enjoying the story, this chapter took some time but that's the joy of having no specific schedule! Will include a little "previously on" in each chapter so if there's some time between them you know what happened last. Here we go!

_"When I was younger I saw my daddy cry_  
_And curse at the wind_  
_He broke his own heart and I watched_  
_As he tried to reassemble it_  
_And my mama swore that she would_  
_Never let herself forget_  
_And that was the day that I promised_  
_I'd never sing of love if it does not exist_

_Maybe I know, somewhere_  
_Deep in my soul, that love never lasts_  
_And we've got to find other ways_  
_To make it alone, but keep a straight face_  
_And I've always lived like this_  
_Keeping a comfortable distance_  
_And up until now, I had sworn to myself_  
_That I'm content with loneliness_  
_Because none of it was ever worth the risk_

_Well, you are the only exception_  
_You are the only exception_  
_You are the only exception_  
_You are the only exception"_

_The only exception - Paramore_

* * *

Dean loved pie.

He never once passed on a piece. Well, he did remember that one time he picked up a nasty vomiting bug in Oklahoma while hunting a shifter. He hardly left the bathroom for about three days, and even then he felt tempted when Sam brought a slice with him from the local diner.

There was something about it, the buttery crust, the sweet juicy filling and the generous dollop of whipped cream he got on top by giving the waitress a wink. It made him happy, and had done so for a long time. He remembered having a slice of pie as a treat growing up, after John had one of his many signature drunken rages, or if he left them alone for too long in a motel. He figured a shrink would say there was something to explore there, but Dean rarely gave it much thought. Pie was good and that was the end of it.

They parked the impala in a mostly empty lot and walked the rest of the way to the festival. The day was overcast, with a chill in the air, and Dean relished in the cool burn of the fresh air in his nose. The air in the bunker was starting to get pretty stale. He had one thing on his mind - getting his teeth into some sweet sweet pie. He could hear Sam and Eileen chatting excitedly beside him, but was too caught up in his own manic excitement to pay them much attention. They walked past the local jobs office - a small drab building that was so unremarkable that Dean had never even realised what it was before. Taped to the inside of the window, was a small sheet of paper.

POWER AUTO REPAIR - WE'RE HIRING! LOOKING FOR A JUINOR MECHANIC TO JOIN THE TEAM. SEE OUR WEBSITE FOR MORE DETAILS.

As he walked past, Dean's eyes were glued to the sheet. He read the words over and over, making sure he was reading it right. He may not have been officially trained, but after all the years of keeping the impala running, he was as good as any mechanic.

"Dean? What is it?" Sam asked, he and Eileen were a few steps ahead. Dean, now realizing he had stopped walking, tore his eyes from the sheet.

"Nothing." He hurried past them.

As they turned the corner of the bustling street, the edge of which was enclosed on each side with metal barriers, the whole world opened up to him. Lined along the edges of the side street were countless stands, with pieces of pie as far as the eye could see. The sweet sharp scent of sugar wafted down the street, and his stomach let out a growl in anticipation. Dean stopped and took it all in, his smile stretching from ear to ear. Sam and Eileen walked hand-in-hand beside him.

"This is officially the best day of my life." Dean said, which him earned a pair of raised eyebrows.

"Better than, I dunno, saving the world?" Sam asked flatly.

"Yeah but there was no pie then, and besides I was getting my ass beat by Chuck. This-" he gestured to the festival with his arms stretched out wide,"-this is heaven." Sam looked at Eileen and they shared a little smile. Dean sighed, there wasn't a chance in hell they hadn't been talking about him, probably worrying too with what a mess he had been. He straightened up and flashed them a smile, today they were not going to worry about him once, he would make sure of it.

As they walked around the barriers, a woman with a clipboard approached. She wore a white 'I love Pie' t-shirt, and a bright orange hat that read 'Ask me about the Pie!'. Dean took an excited breath in as she approached.

"Hey there pie lovers!" She beamed and Dean returned the sentiment. "Are you ready to get your pie on?" Dean could feel his saliva building as the nutty scent of pecan pie floated into his nose.

"Oh, I've never been more ready in my life." He said with a little more intensity than was necessary. She handed him a small card with the banner for the festival was on the front. He opened it to reveal a list of pie flavors, and their bakers' names, with a little empty box beside each.

"That there is a list of all the bakers showcasing their skills today. Your job is to rank which pies you like the best. We will collect them at the end of the day and award a prize for the best pie. You don't have to try them all, but pick your favorites from the ones you do try." She handed a card to Sam and Eileen too.

"Something tells me he is going to try them all." Sam said, and thanked the woman with a smile.

It took all of five minutes for Dean to collect about ten different slices of pie. They were laid out neatly in a large cardboard pie box, which he was balancing on his knees as they all sat on a nearby bench. He inspected the slices, unsure of which one to start with. The crimson shine of the cherry pie caught his eye and he quickly scooped up a piece, which was easily over half the slice, shoving it into his mouth. The sweet, tart syrup was almost intoxicating.

"Oh man, this is amazing." Sam looked queasy watching him eat.

"Do you have to eat such big bites, its gross." Dean smiled, and a piece of pie sloughed from his mouth on to the pavement, causing Sam to gag. Dean swallowed the rest of the food, almost choking on it as a fit of giggles rose up his throat.

"Try the cherry one, its awesome." He said shoving the box towards his brother. Sam picked a respectable piece from what was left of the pie and held it in front of Eileen's mouth. She leaned out to take it from the fork and they shared a sweet smile. Dean watched them, feeling himself deflate a little. It was nice to see them be all mushy, but it just made the empty spot beside Dean feel more…empty.

The shrill sound of microphone feedback sliced through the air. Dean flinched, when he noticed the woman from earlier on the small makeshift stage at the end of the street. She tapped the microphone nervously.

"Excuse me everyone - the pie eating competition will be starting in the next 15 minutes. If anyone else would like to enter please come to the stage now." Dean's head swung wildly between the stage and Sam, who looked less than impressed.

"Dude, I was born for this!" He hoisted the pie box on to an unprepared Sam, who almost dropped them on the ground. He could hear Sam grumble several choice curse words as he sped towards the stage. The girl in the orange hat was standing by a small table at the side of the stage, and she smiled when their eyes met. Dean strode up to the table and defiantly put his hands on his hips.

"I'm here to win your pie competition." She nodded, un fazed by his declaration, and grabbed a pen from the table.

"What is your name, sweetie?" Dean, in his excitement, almost used his real name. It was probably still on several federal watchlists to this day.

"Dean W-" His mind went blank, and his eyes scanned the shop fronts on the street, spotting a Walker's Bike Repair. "Dean Walker."

"Any relation of the Walker's here in town?" She asked while scribbling down his 'name'.

"Uh no, different Walkers." He smiled at her while scratching the back of his head. The sooner they got away from the subject of his identity the better.

"Okay Dean, you're all ready to go. Here's your t-shirt and hat, so you don't ruin that lovely flannel shirt of yours. You can use our little trailer there behind the stage to change." She pointed to a small grey portacabin sitting in the shade of the stage. Dean looked at the shirt and hat in his hands, the same ones she was wearing, and grinned. Free pie and free merch, this day just kept getting better.

He climbed up the stairs into the cabin, which was stuffed to the brim with storage boxes, some with more t-shirts and hats, others with flyers and a few with a random assortment of fancy dress items. Dean eyes landed on a pretty sweet looking cowboy hat, and he picked it up. He looked at it and the pie hat the girl had just given him. Both were solid options, but how cool would he look chowing down on some pie with a cowboy hat on? His eyes flitted between the two options before he quickly replaced his shirt with the t-shirt. He put the cowboy hat on and walked over to where a small mirror hung.

He looked good. He gave himself a confident smile, noticing just how much his crows feet had deepened. The kid in the gas station wasn't kidding, but Dean still felt a smile creep into his lips when he saw them - proof of his continued survival despite everything that had happened. He adjusted the hat so it perched on his head at just the right angle. Then, another face filled his vision, in a slightly less cool hat.

_'Yeah. Look, just act like you're from Tombstone, okay?'_

_'The city?'_

_'The movie. With Kurt Russell? I made you watch it.'_

_'Yeah, yeah. Yeah. The one with the guns and tuberculosis.'_

An image flooded his mind - of Cas talking like a cowboy to a group of hardened sheriffs while wearing an admittedly silly wicker hat. A snort of laughter burst from his lips at the thought of it. Cas was a strange guy, but he usually gave his all if Dean asked it of him, human conventions be damned. Heat rushed up his neck and to his ears, _guess I know why now._

Then, he watched his own smile drop in the mirror. _Damn it_ , he thought averting his eyes from the sad ones staring back at him. _I can't go two minutes without_ -

He turned suddenly as the door to the cabin opened. It was the girl from the festival.

"Hey Dean, the competition is about to get started."

"Sure yeah, I'm ready to eat." He grabbed his clothes and sped out the door past her.

Dean took his seat on the stage as a crowd started to form around it. There were probably sixty people encircling the stage, with the same number still strolling around at the stalls. His stomach flipped as he registered the number of eyes on him, and he pulled his hat down over his face a little more.

Beside him sat three other contenders, a blonde woman with enough muscles to beat Dean to a pulp, a weedy looking guy with a sickly pale complexion, and a dude dressed head to toe in black leather who was huge in every way possible. He eyed the three, _bet Mr. Massive here is my top competition,_ he thought. He readied himself for a battle as a few young people dressed in their pie merch started to pile the contestant's plates high with slices of different pies.

He spotted Sam and Eileen as they made their way to the front of the crowd. They both smiled, giving Dean the thumbs up, when the speaker chirped beside him as one of the volunteers clears her throat.

"Ladies and gentlemen, you are all very welcome to Lebanon's first ever pie-eating competition. Today we have four contenders fighting for the title of 'King of Pies'." She pulled something from behind her back, an intricately carved golden crown with a pie made of jewels on the front. It was probably plastic but from where Dean sat, the thing looked real. The decorative swirls carved into the surface curved gracefully around a set of deep crimson stones, for the cherry pie filling of course. Dean was going to win that crown, even if he had to go into hyperglycemic shock.

"Today we have four contestants, the first of which is a newcomer to the scene-" she looked down at her notes for a moment -"Dean Walker from our very own Lebanon, Kansas!" The crowd barely reacted, and a few claps echoed in the street. Sam and Eileen gave it their best, clapping and hollering for him, and he grinned proudly. "The second contestant, another newcomer, Natalie Grossman who recently took the first prize at the state bodybuilding championships!" She earned a similarly muted reaction from the crowd, as she flexed her muscular arms in various poses. "We also are very excited to have last years national pie eating champion, the one, the only - the destroyer, Dale Colton!" Dean watched the huge guy waiting for him to stand, when the weedy guy beside him stood and threw his hands up to the cheers of the crowd, before shooting hand guns at his fellow contestants. Dean rolled his eyes, _this dork's going down_. "We also have out local pie eating champion, Cas-" Dean's heart jumped into his throat "-per Collins, who recently took home the Kansas state championship!" The crowd cheered again an Dean's cheeks felt hot. It was like a bruise, and any mention of him, or a little reminder caused him to flinch and feel a rush of pain. He sucked in some air and rubbed his thighs for a moment, letting his heart calm down. The woman was still speaking into the microphone, though he missed some of what she said.

"The rules are simple ladies an gentlemen. You all have 30 slices in front of you, the first person to finish their pile will be crowned the Pie King. And remember - throwing up is only allowed after the last slice of pie is swallowed!" Dean recoiled at that - did they have that many people throwing up at these things?

She took a small pastel blue pellet gun from her belt, and pointed it to the sky. "Are you ready?" Dean tensed his shoulders and leaned forward, holding his breath. He gawked at the pies, ready to jump on them the moment he heard the signal.

The crack of the gun split the air and the following few minutes was a blur of fevered chewing and swallowing, to the shouts of encouragement from the crowd. It didn't take long for the buzz of a sugar rush to swirl at the back of his head. He moved with such ferocity he didn't even look at where his fellow contestants were in their plates. Soon enough the roof of his mouth began to burn with the sheer quantity of sugar passing his lips, and the jagged edges of the pie began to hurt a little.

The whole ordeal seemed to fly by in a single moment. When he finally shoved the last piece into his mouth, he chewed as fast as he could, despite the protests from his still bruised jaw and sore tongue. As he swallowed the last bite his hand flew for a small hotel bell they left beside each of them, and the ding rang out to a now silent crowd.

Dean sat back in his chair for a moment, his stomach stretched and ready to explode, when the silence finally registered. He looked at the crowd, who eyed him with some mixture of awe, confusion and shock. He looked to his competitors plates - Natalie the bodybuilder had at least half of her slices left, and Kansas state champ Casper still had six or seven slices left. Dean eyes landed on national champ Dale's plate, and the two slices of pie that sat on the white ceramic.

He leapt from the char as the crowd let out an almighty cheer, and his mouth let out a waterfall of partly-digested pie.

* * *

It took about an hour for the feeling of nausea to subside, and they eventually made their way to a nearby bar, the Rusty Nail. The place was a dive. Old wooden furniture, most of which was sticky or broken, sat under dim flickering fluorescent lights. It wasn't a high class joint by any means, but Dean felt a sense of comfort there amongst the chattering locals and the sound of Lynyrd Skynyrd floating in the thick smoky air.

Dean dropped the icy cold beer bottles to the table and quickly slipped his wallet into his jeans. Sam looked at him, unimpressed.

"Do you have to wear that in here?" He asked, and Dean adjusted his crown, tipping it back just a little.

"Dude, I'm the freakin' Pie King! I'm sleeping in this thing tonight." Sam rolled his eyes and pushed one of the bottles towards Eileen, who gave Dean a high five.

"Can't argue with royalty." She joked and Sam took a generous gulp of his beer.

"See? She gets it!" Dean said, grinning and lifted his beer above the centre of the table. "To the Pie King, who puked in front of like 100 people." That earned a hearty laugh from all three of them, who raised their bottles and shouted a merry toast.

"To the Pie King!" Sam and Eileen sang in a chorus. Dean felt a rush of warmth in his chest, more than just the burn of the alcohol. For the first time since _that_ day, the bubble that had closed around him had started to expand. He could see them coming back to the festival next year, and he could defend his crown. Maybe the three of them could even go on a trip somewhere, like the beach, or some other festival out-of-state. The happy images floated into his mind - the three of them hopping in the car to drive to the coast, getting ice cream to cool down in the hot sun, sitting in the warm sand with a beer in hand.

He noticed a pattern - Sam and Eileen were together, and Dean was just tagging along. He tried to imagine some hot blonde chick in a bikini sitting beside him, clinking her beer with his, but something about it felt wrong. He laughed to himself as Sam and Eileen spoke quietly to each other, exchanging quick mischievous smiles. Guess he was going to be the third wheel, at least for now.

Eileen stood, giving Sam a quick peck before going to the bathroom. A comfortable silence fell between the brothers as the world continued to move around them. Another image appeared in Dean's mind, on the same beach with Sam and Eileen. This time, Dean wasn't alone. Cas and Jack sat beside him in matching blue Hawaiian shirts. The image was as silly as it was heart-breaking. A thought bubbled to the surface of his tipsy mind, and he said it before he could think.

"Where do you think Jack is right now?" He asked, and Sam stared at his beer bottle, wiping his fingers against the layer of condensation dotted all around it.

"I dunno… Its like he said, I guess he's everywhere." Dean huffed, and took a swig of the cold, bitter liquid. He wasn't so sure about this whole 'I'm in every drop of rain' crap, but with Cas gone they could have done with having the kid around.

"Yeah, sure as hell doesn't feel like it." Dean mumbled and finished the last drops of his beer.

"At least we know he's alive and okay." Sam said absent-mindedly, as if having some daydreams of his own. Dean smiled, seeing a stiff wave and a cheesy smile in his mind. The kid was alive, and now he would outlive all of them, but that didn't feel like enough. He looked at Sam, who stared at his beer bottle. Maybe it was selfish, to want Jack to stay with them, but Dean deserved to be a little selfish, didn't he? He stood, pointing to Sam's almost empty bottle.

"Another beer?" Sam nodded and Dean left for the bar.

One beer became two, and two quickly became five, which became shots. Before they realised how much time had passed, the red and black digital clock across the bar clicked to 20:00. Dean propped up his head in his hands, his elbows digging awkwardly into the table. The bar was wobbling erratically in his vision, a sign he should have stopped about three shots ago. Sam and Eileen chatted drunkenly in front of them, talking loud and signing even louder - but Dean suddenly felt a little too drunk to say anything. Sam looked at him and chuckled.

"Dude you look wasted."

"I-" Dean hiccupped loudly, "-It's because I am." He heard his own slurred voice and a giggle burst from his lips. _Oh man I really am wasted._

"Okay," Sam said standing up a little shakily, "let's get back to the bunker before anyone else vomits." Dean gave him a very unsteady thumbs up, when his elbow slipped on the table sending his face right into it with a bang. He held his cheek, as it throbbed painfully. Sam and Eileen erupted in laughter, each taking one of his arms over their shoulders and walking him out of the bar.

The walk back was a blur, the icy evening air only intensifying how drunk he felt. He babbled to Sam and Eileen about some stupid nothings, and they shouted and laughed the whole way there. It wasn't long before Sam was opening metal door of the bunker, and they slowly made their way down the stairs as an unstable unit - arms thrown over each other's shoulders, with Sam in the middle. As they all tried to step from the stairs to the ground, they keeled over towards Dean for a moment before regaining their collective balance. Sam snorted loudly.

"Dude, you're gonna make us fall!" He slurred and Dean laughed loudly, feeling the the pleasant burn of endorphins in the back of his head. They stumbled down the hall, and Dean's face felt sore from all the smiling and laughing. When they reached Dean's bedroom door and he stepped out from their grip, his legs felt like jelly. He was babbling before he had the chance to think of what he wanted to say.

"Thanks for getting me out of the bunker today. First time in a while I felt like life could be…normal." Sam's expression softened and he patted Dean's shoulder, squeezing it gently.

"Yeah, me too." Sam and Eileen walked down the hall with their arms wrapped around the other's waist. Dean fumbled with the door handle for a moment before stumbling into his room. He looked around the quiet room, his ears ringing from the loud music at the bar. As he moved towards the bed he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, crown and all. He gave himself a wink, chuckled and adjusted the crown, which had been teetering dangerously on the side of his head.

He let out a groan as he fell backwards on the bed, holding on to the crown of course. The ceiling above swung around wildly, and he could hardly make anything out for a second. The silence started to weigh on him and he felt a sudden urge to speak - to call out to the one person who probably couldn't hear him.

"Hey, Cas? Do they have reception in the empty?" No response, not that he was expecting one, and yet his stomach still twisted a little in disappointment. "Had one heck of a day, you should have been there man. I'm the Pie King now!" He let out a laugh, but this time it was wooden and insincere, as if there was someone listening that he had to pretend for. Like a drop of ink on paper, he felt the tinge of sadness start at his centre and slowly turn his mood dark.

"You should have _been_ there," He whispered, "you should be _here_." His mind swirled with an indescribable mixture of feelings - sadness, rage, disappointment, shame - and his usually strong walls collapsed under the smallest of pressures.

"What am I supposed to do?" He asked, his voice high and whining. "Tell me, Cas. You said to me that you-" he bit his lip, holding back a sob "-and you sacrificed yourself for me? How am I supposed to live with that! How can I live knowing you're dead because of _me_?" His voice was rising, moving from a sad whimper to an aggressive growl. "How could you, you bastard!" He roared at the ceiling, not caring if Sam or Eileen could hear him. Another sob wracked him, and he balled his hands up into fists and shook them violently, suddenly so full with rage he didn't know what to do with it. "How could you leave me, after saying that? Tell me! I hate you for that, you hear me? I hate you!" He was up on his knees now, body rigid like a wooden board, staring into the ceiling. He spent a moment in the miserable silence that followed his exclamation, before collapsing back into the bed.

He pulled the blanket over him haphazardly and pressed his face into it. The blanket waved in and out with his heavy breaths. He spoke into the blanket, so quiet he almost couldn't hear his own voice.

"I'm sorry Cas, I don't hate you. I'm sorry. It's all my fault."

For a long time, he lay curled under the blanket, a feeling of complete numbness settling in, before his eyelids couldn't hold up anymore.

He shot up in the bed with a start, feeling the cool air of the room against his sweaty skin. He sighed, and turned on the lamp beside him. His vision was fuzzy, and the edge of the light split into hazy prisms. He blinked a a few times, which did nothing. _Must still be drunk_. He thought, and got up from the bed.

He strolled to the kitchen, not entirely sure why he was going there. He ambled down the steps, heading for the fridge. As he grabbed the cool metal handle, a voice came from behind him that stopped his heart.

"Can't sleep?" Dean whipped around to see Cas sitting at the table, a steaming cup of tea between his hands. Dean stood there, helplessly, his mouth moving but no sounds coming out. Eventually, he made a few sounds.

"H-How did you-" Can looked down at his tea woefully, when it hit Dean, like a punch in the gut. "This is a dream." He said bitterly, and Cas nodded.

"I'm afraid so." Dean walked over to the table, eyes never leaving Cas. He looked exactly as he did that day, though his expression was calm. Dean sat down and suddenly there was a cup of tea in front of him. Cas smiled, leaving a warm feeling in Dean's stomach. "Have some herbal tea Dean, it might help you sleep." Dean smiled, and took a sip. It didn't taste like tea, it tasted like room temperature whiskey. As soon as he thought it, their cups of tea were now tumblers of whiskey. He shifted in his seat, when he realised they were now sitting in the library, all the lights off except the lamp between them. Cas sipped the whiskey and gave Dean another smile.

"Penny for your thoughts," He said, and Dean smiled.

"I'm just happy to see you, buddy." Dean outstretched his hand and they tipped their glasses against each other. Dean felt the warm brush of his finger as they pulled apart, and it sent a shiver down his spine. He looked at his hand for a moment, and back to Cas. He was staring at Dean in that way he did, like he was looking right through to his bones. "Shame this isn't real." He muttered, and took a drink of whiskey.

"You defeated Chuck." Cas said, more of a statement than a question. Dean nodded, and Cas' mouth twitched into a small smile. "What will you do now?" He asked, and Dean sighed. Was this his own mind's way of torturing him? What would the real Cas think if he knew Dean had hardly left the bunker since they defeated Chuck.

"Honestly, Cas, I don't know. I thought when I finally got my freedom, that I'd leave hunting behind and live my own life. But…"

"But?… Are you unhappy?" Cas leaned towards him, squinting. Dean sighed, and idly ran his finger along the rim of his glass. He could feel heat creep up the back of his neck, towards his ears.

"Yeah…I am." He let out a nervous chuckle, and when Cas frowned, he couldn't hold his stare. "I'm free, sure, but I just lost too damn much to get there." Cas hummed beside him and Dean heard him swallow a sip of whiskey.

Cas looked around the library, when he smiled, his cerulean eyes tinged with a hint of sadness.

"I miss the bunker. The empty is…significantly less pleasant." Cas mused, while looking behind him at the books in the shelves. Dean grimaced, and looked away from him, biting his lip.

"Cas, I'm Sorry. It's my fault, I should never have gone to face Billie." Dean said, and felt a hand grasp his wrist gently. He looked back to Cas, and his eyes fell to stare at his hand. Maybe it was because it wasn't real, or because he was happy to see Cas even in a dream; but he reached out and put his hand over Cas', feeling the ridges of his knuckles and the warmth of his skin. Cas' hand tightened. Dean could feel his heart thumping in his chest. When Cas let out a little chuckle, it doubled its pace.

"Don't apologize, Dean. All I want is for you to be happy." Cas said. Dean didn't think you could blush in a dream, but his ears continued to burn hot nonetheless.

"Yeah, you see, it's not as easy as it sounds." Dean muttered, and Cas tilted his head to the side, squinting.

"Why not?"

Dean looked into Cas' ocean blue eyes, and felt an ache in his heart so painful he thought he might be having a heart attack. The answer was obvious, and the more time that passed the harder it was getting for him to ignore it.

"Because you're not here." Dean replied, tightening his grip around Cas' warm hand.

"Will you try, to be happy?" Dean frowned, and Cas leaned closer to him. "For me?" Dean closed his eyes for a moment and focused on the warmth at his wrist.

"Yeah." He whispered, "I'll try." Dean opened his eyes to see Cas' squinting face soften to a pleasant smile. For a blissful moment they stared at each other in the unnatural silence of Dean's dream. Normally, he would have looked away by now, feeling the awkward tension rising in the back of his neck. But this time, he couldn't tear his eyes away from the angel's serene face. He needed to memorize the lines in his face, his baritone voice, and the pattern of creases in his coat.

"Hey Dean?" Cas asked softly.

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

Dean's eyes shot open and he bolted upright in the bed, panting loudly. He held his forehead for a moment, trying to catch his breath. Soon, his arms dropped to his sides, his energy suddenly zapped from his body. His fell back against the mattress, his vision spinning around and his mouth still numb from the alcohol. He spent the next hour staring at his hand, the ghost of a warm touch still tingling on the tips of his fingers.

* * *

Dean stood in the hall outside the kitchen, a sheet of paper in his hands. He heard Sam make a pot of coffee and some sort of food on the stove, then sit down and open his laptop. Dean stood outside the door for what was probably 10 minutes, stopping himself every time he wanted to walk in the door.

 _It's stupid, maybe I shouldn't bother,_ he thought. He turned to walk away and stooped again after a few steps. _It's now or never_. He took a deep breath and walked in the door.

Sam looked up from his food, some kind of disgusting looking salad, and gave Dean a nod. Dean shuffled over to the table, clutching the sheet of paper close to his chest. He sat down, and Sam watched him with a puzzled expression.

"What is it?" He asked, brow creasing. He pushed his laptop closed gently and left it on the other side of the table.

"Uh- I was just wondering-" Dean fumbled with his words before slapping the sheet down in front of Sam, causing him to jump every-so-slightly. He stared at the sheet, eyes flickering over and back as he read it. Then his face lit up.

"Is this, for real?" He asked, his mouth turning up into a smirk. Dean nodded, feeling his own lip upturn.

"I saw it yesterday before we went to the festival." Dean said, and Sam looked at him with misty eyes.

"I'm proud of you, Dean." Sam smiled and Dean felt a warmth bloom in his stomach.

"Thanks, Sammy-" He cleared his throat "-but I need some help." Sam sat up straight and put down his cutlery.

"What do you need?" Dean looked away for a moment, as his cheeks began to burn.

"Ineedhelpwithmyresume." He mumbled out the side of his mouth.

"What?" Sam asked.

"I need help with my resume." He said only marginally louder, but Sam heard this time. He leaned back in his chair and flashed a shit eating grin, folding his arms over his chest.

"Well well, the great Dean Winchester needs _my_ help." Dean punched his arm, earning an undignified yelp from Sam.

"Shut it, college boy. I haven't had a normal job for years, not since Lisa. I don't know anything about this crap." Sam pulled the sheet closer to him, reading it more intently now. He nodded a few times as he read, and he grabbed his laptop, flipping it open with an intense concentrated stare. His fingers typed against the keys for a minute, and Dean waited quietly watching him work.

"Okay, lets start simple." He swiveled the laptop around to face Dean, and the sight of the word document with the header DEAN WINCHESTER lit a nervous fire in his stomach. His eyes scanned the lines below - including headings like ADDRESS, PHONE NUMBER and PREVIOUS EMPLOYMENT. He couldn't tell them he lived in the bunker, it wasn't exactly on the USPS route, and most of his phone numbers were linked to fake FBI aliases, so they were out too. Dean didn't exactly have a long career behind him, despite being in his early 40s - and last time he checked, saving the world from several apocalypses wasn't something you put on a resume. _Maybe this is a mistake_.

"Don't make that face, dude." Sam said, patting Dean's shoulder, "you know more about cars than anybody, they'd be crazy not to hire you." Dean grimaced, frankly they would be crazy _to_ hire him. His history looks like that of an escaped convict. He let out a little chuckle, he _was_ an escaped convict technically, and _dead_.

Sam worked his magic on the resume, and before long there was an immaculately designed document ready to go - for for a Dean Walker, now that the hundreds of festival attendees knew him as that. Dean stared at the words on the screen, feeling his stomach flip over.

"So now you just need to hand the resume in at the garage." Sam said cheerily, putting away his plate. Dean watched him, his fingers tapping against the surface of the table.

"Yeah. What should I wear?" He asked, and suddenly felt very stupid. "I dunno man, maybe I shouldn't bother."

"No, Dean, you should. This will be good." Sam said, giving Dean an encouraging smile. Dean smiled back, but the nervous fire in his stomach burned a little hotter. He looked at Sam for a moment, and the question sprung to the front of his mind.

"What about you? What are you gonna do with Chuck out of the picture?" Sam huffed and gave Dean a tight smile.

"I don't know. I thought about getting a normal job but something about that doesn't feel right. It might be crazy, but I think I want to continue hunting. I dunno…" He trailed off. Dean wasn't all that surprised, he'd seen just how well Sam had worked as the leader of the apocalypse-world hunters. There was a fire in his eyes during that time the Dean had thought was long extinguished. Sam had a lot more good to do for the world yet, he was sure of that.

"Doesn't sound crazy to me at all." Dean said, before heading for his bedroom to change.

Dean returned to the kitchen a few minutes later in one of his FBI suits. Sam looked him up and down and nodded.

"Looks good, are you ready?" Sam asked and Dean let out a tense sigh. He didn't realize he had been holding his breath.

"Yeah, guess its now or never right?" Dean turned toward the door, ready to drive into town and hand in the resume. He stopped on the steps of the kitchen when he felt the doubts creep in and destroy what little confidence he had. He swiveled back towards Sam and scratched the back of his head.

"So, what do I do?" Sam smiled at him as he babbled.

"Just go there and hand the resume to the guy in charge, tell them you're interested in the job. Make a good impression and you might get called back for an interview." Sam said, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. He worked with a welder while he lived with Lisa and Ben - but at the time Lisa put a good word in for him, since she knew the guy who owned the garage. This time he was flying blind.

He turned to leave the kitchen when Sam piped up.

"Dean, what made you want to apply now? Jody had to threaten you to get you to take a break from hunting only a few days ago." Dean smiled, looking at the floor.

"After everything we've been through, don't we deserve to be happy? Or at least try…" Sam seemed taken aback, before giving Dean a small smile.

"Yeah, we do. Knock em'out," Sam said, making a fist with his hand. He stopped for a moment and considered something. "Well, you know, metaphorically." Dean left the kitchen chuckling, if things got bad he might very well start throwing a few punches.

As Dean walked to the impala in the garage, the urge to pray crawled its way up his throat once more. He looked up at the ceiling, staring at a few black squares where the white roof tiles had fallen away.

"Hey Cas." He said quietly, "I figured you'd be happy to hear that I'm applying for a job, a normal job. Can you imagine? Me working a 9 to 5…" He trailed off, his voice echoing against the stone walls of the bunker's garage. His voice dropped, now just a whisper, "Wish me luck."

There was no response.

* * *

The garage was a ten minute drive from the bunker, and when Dean arrived the place seemed empty. He pulled the impala into the front lot, between the hunks of rusting car parts thrown around the yard. There was only one car on the lift inside, a silver sedan with two of it's wheels taken off. He turned off the engine and picked up the green manila folder Sam had given him. He held the rough card against his chest and took a few deep breaths.

He pushed open the driver side door with a loud squeak and made his way inside. The air smelled of gasoline, engine oil and rusted metal. Dean took a hungry breath in, relishing in the scent. The garage was messy - bits and pieces of every kind strewn across the work benches, and not one surface of the place looked clean. It was a familiar site, reminded him of the way Bobby's place used to look. He couldn't help imagining himself lying under the chassis with his toolbox beside him, brow slick with sweat and hands black with oil. A loud bang echoed from the back of the garage, startling him. Then, a few quiet grunts.

"Well, shit." A gruff voice said, and Dean took a few hesitant steps toward the voice.

"Everything okay back there?" He called out and a head popped through a door at the back of the room. It was a man, probably in his mid 60s, with wild long white hair and an equally long and unruly beard. His eyes were wide, like a wild animal, and he wore an all denim outfit speckled with the stains one would expect of a mechanic. He gave Dean a broad, toothy smile.

"Just doing some redecorating, how can I help you?" Dean cleared his throat and thrust the folder towards the man, who ambled over and took it from him. Dean could feel the cold air against the sweat stains in his armpits, and he quickly checked them while the man was otherwise engaged.

"I noticed an ad in the jobs office, that you were looking for a junior mechanic." Dean said. The man's eyes flew side-to-side as he skimmed through his resume. Dean took a breath to speak again, _remember what Sammy said, show him how much you want the job._ "I-"

"You ever changed a transmission before?" The man asked, handing Dean back his resume.

"Yes sir. Built a totalled'67 Chevy impala from the ground up." The man stopped and gave Dean a surprised look, and an impressed nod.

"No too shabby. Why don't you help me with this Camry, will you? Needs a transmission change, not to mention a few worn brake pads." Dean looked down at his suit and winced.

"I'm not really dressed for the occasion." The man ignored Dean's protest as he walked over to the car, wiping his hands on a rag. As he bent down toward his toolbox, he pointed to the back of the garage, without looking up at Dean.

"There should be a few sets of overalls hanging in the back, throw one on and come back out here." Dean nodded and skipped towards the back of the shop when he spotted the row of dirty navy overalls hanging on the wall. He threw off his pants and jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. As he jumped into the overalls, he breathed a soft laugh as he noticed the name sown over the breast pocket - _Sam_.

When he arrived over to the mechanic, he was standing under the car, which was hoisted high above them. He motioned to Dean, his other hand holding something up against the chassis.

"Come 'ere, Dean. Help me drain the transmission fluid." Dean rushed over and got stuck in, helping the guy take the transmission out piece by piece. It was tough work, but there was something about it that instilled a sense of calm in Dean. He didn't feel the time passing, but he figured he must have been there for at least two hours. The mechanic, who he eventually discovered was called Dale, didn't say much as they worked. He just gave commands and Dean answered them dutifully.

As Dean stepped out of the overalls and back into his suit, he felt lighter. He looked around the garage, a smile ghosting his lips. _I could get used to coming here every day,_ he thought. Dale wiped the dirt from his hands with a paper towel and gave Dean a strange look.

"Look, Dean. I don't want to leave you in suspense. You have great skills, I'll give you that." Dean beamed, waiting for the inevitable conclusion to his compliment. Dale played with his wedding band, and avoided Dean's gaze for a moment. "I already hired a guy for the job yesterday, but you've got chops, and if it's any help, I can recommend you to another local garage that might be looking for a part timer." Dean felt the air sucked out of his lungs, like a car had been dropped on him from atop the lift. Dale continued to talk, but Dean couldn't hear him anymore. He gave Dale a smile and thanked him for his time.

He walked toward the impala like a zombie, a thousand thoughts and feelings invading his mind like a plague of locusts. Why did he think he could just walk in and be offered the job? _Shit_ , he thought, feeling like an idiot for doing all that work when the job was gone. He opened the door and fell into the driver's seat of the impala, ripping the door closed with a bang.

He sat for a moment, staring at the steering wheel, when an explosion went off in the back of his head. He smashed his palms against it's hard leather edges again and again and again. When he stilled, his palms throbbed red hot, and he looked at the angry red glow of his skin. He let out a shaky breath, trying to calm the corrosive rage pumping through his veins. Tears pricked at his eyes and he let his aching head fall into his now stinging palms. The serene voice from his dream cut through the manic tornado of his mind.

' _Will you try to be happy? For me?'_

Dean whimpered against his hands, feeling a jolt of shame burn in the pit of his stomach.

"I'm trying, Cas." He said, and leaned forward to rest his forehead against the wheel, biting his lip. "I swear, I'm _trying_." He sat, his head against the wheel for a quiet eternity.

Dean snapped back to reality, the sound of a car horn blaring from somewhere behind him. He looked at his phone, 11:48am. He had been daydreaming with his head against the wheel for the last fifteen minutes. The thought gnawed at his mind, and now he didn't think he could ignore it. If he left now he could be at the Rusty Nail for noon when it opened. He squirmed in his seat, trying not to think about his dismal performance at the garage.

A whiskey would help clam his nerves. He shoved the keys in the ignition and drove.

Another few dreamy minutes later, he trudged from the car, as the open sign inside the window of the bar stuttered to life. The bar inside was empty, but for a few local bikers playing darts in the corner, and the sad silhouette of someone drinking alone at the bar. He felt drawn to the somber slope of their shoulders and before he knew it he was pulling up a nearby stool to the bar. Now that he was closer, he could see it was a woman - a curtain of long curly brown hair shieling her face. She wore a denim jacket and grey sweats, and sat hunched over the bar idly playing with her glass.

He met eyes with the barman as he polished a beer glass. Dean nodded towards the Jack Daniels and the barman silently went about filling a measure. He looked to the woman again, as she swirled the last drop of whiskey in the tumblr. Dean cleared his throat.

"One for the lady too." A soft huff came from behind the curtain of hair.

"I'm no lady." Her voice was gravely and deep, like she had been chain-smoking for years. His heart constricted for a moment, she sounded a lot like Ellen.

"Don't sell yourself short, sweetheart." His breath hitched in his throat as she turned, the right side of her face twisted and torn with scars, a faint red aura still lingering on their edges. She must have read him like a book, as a bitter smile caused her scaly scar tissue to crinkle.

"Not what you were expecting, eh?" She asked and Dean's stomach twisted in guilt. He had seen plenty of scars before, but something about seeing them on someone's face always felt, _worse_.

"I-Uh. No. I just-"

"It's okay. If you didn't react like that, I'd be worried about you." She threw back the last of her drink as the bartender served one to each of them. Dean reached his hand out to her.

"Dean." She took it and gave a firm handshake.

"Amy. What brings a guy like you to a place like this?" Dean chuckled and took a sip of his drink, the smell of alcohol burning his nostrils. He could already feel his thrumming anxiety about the interview quench as the heat bloomed in his stomach.

"That's usually my line." He joked and she gave him a strange look.

"What, you not into disfigured chicks?" Dean balked at the statement.

"No- I-" Amy smiled, and took a sip of her drink.

"I'm messing with you Dean. If you're going to join me here moping, then you can't be walking on eggshells around me. I have enough people in my life who do that already." Dean nodded, seeing Sam and Eileen's concerned faces in his mind's eye.

"Yeah, okay, I get that." Dean said, and sipped his drink. "So why are you moping then?" Amy moved her glass around against the rough surface of the bar, watching the amber liquid swirl. Her eyes were vacant for a moment, like her soul had transported from her body. She sighed.

"Why else does anyone come to drink at a shabby place like this, sorry Mike- " She gave the bartender a wave and he grumbled to himself on the other side of the room, "-only love can make someone so miserable." Dean choked on his drink at the mention of _that_ word, another memory flashing in his mind.

'E _verything you have ever done, the good and the bad, you have done for love.'_

She looked to Dean, and his heart sped up a little. "What about you?" she asked.

"Blew a job interview today, so I'm here to drown my sorrows." He replied and Amy shook her head.

"Not buying it."

"What? You think I'm lying?" Amy shook her head.

"No, that's not it. Its just, I just recognize that look in your eyes." She reached out to touch Dean's hand. He flinched at the action, and she withdrew her hand again. Dean took another sip, his mouth curling up into an empty smile.

"Heh, don't know what you're talking about." Amy turned her body towards Dean, elbow resting against the bar. She let out a sigh, raising her brow at him. Dean shrunk a little under her stare.

"Okay, I'll go first, then you." She clasped her hands in her lap, and her eyes dropped to the floor.

"Today is the one year anniversary of my _facelift_." She waved her hand over the scarred side of her face, her expression fraught. "Some kid decided to have a few vodkas before getting on the road. He didn't make it, and neither did my girlfriend." She said through gritted teeth, as her hands wiped up and down her thighs. Dean heart dropped, and he turned on his chair to face her.

"I'm sorry." Dean said, and she let out a dry cackle.

"Yeah, I've heard that before." She said in a low voice. Dean winced, and felt the urge to apologize for his apology rise in his throat. He knew all too well how frustrating it was to hear it, and yet, what else was there to say? "When we crashed I went out cold, and when I woke up, she was already gone. Exsanguination, which was just a fancy way of saying she fucking _bled_ to death." A tear dropped from her eye, leaving a small damp patch on her jeans. Dean's chest was starting to flutter, and visions of tearful blue eyes invading every corner of his mind. She looked up at him, her tears shimmering in the dim light of the bar. "Wanna know the worst part? Paramedics said the car was on fire when they arrived, and based on the scene they arrived at, she must have dragged me from the wreckage, while she was-" her jaw set in place, and she wiped her eyes with the back of her hands. "So yeah, it's a real great day for me." A twinge of pain shot through Dean's hand, and he loosened the vice-like grip he had on the edge of his chair. Amy let out a shuddering sigh, and her shoulders relaxed a little. "Okay, now it's your turn, and _don't_ tell me about some stupid interview." For a moment, Dean couldn't bring himself to speak, every word died on his lips in a void of black goo.

"It-" His entire body felt crushed under her gaze, when he finally pushed the words out "My best friend, he died a week ago - died to save me." Amy sighed, and her hand came to rest on his knee. Dean let the silence between them linger for a moment, as the slow beats of a melancholic rock floated across the room. Amy's eyes flickered for a moment, a brief flash of pain constricting her pupils.

"Do you ever wish it was you instead of them?" Amy whispered.

"Yeah, I did. I do." He answered quietly. Dean threw back the rest of his drink and motioned to the barman, who refilled it from the bottle. "Is that crazy?" He asked, eying the few patrons on the other side of the bar. They didn't seem to even notice that Dean and Amy were there. _Good_ , he thought, last thing he needed was some leather-clad bikers listening to the two bleeding hearts moping at the bar.

"I'm probably not the best person to ask whether something is crazy." She said, stuttering out a tense laugh. Dean smiled, and raised his glass to her.

"To being crazy." Amy raised her glass, and they shared a grin as their glassed clinked together. Amy looked at the bottles lining the wall behind the bar, and her grin widened to a mischievous smile.

"Want to get so drunk that we forget our own names?"

Dean's answer was quick and enthusiastic.

"Hell yes."

It didn't take long for the both of them to be shouting and laughing drunkenly, stumbling and spilling their drinks over themselves and each other. Amy threw back the last drops of her drink when the jukebox moved on to the next song. Dean's earns perked up to the sound of the piano twinkle, and he felt her hand grab his.

_A long, long time ago_  
_I can still remember how that music_  
_Used to make me smile_  
_And I knew if I had my chance_  
_That I could make those people dance_  
_And maybe they'd be happy for a while_

"We are _definitely_ dancing to this." She said and Dean pulled against her grip.

"I don't dance." He said and she grabbed his other hand.

"You do now." Dean didn't put up much of a fight, and a manic warmth began to burn in his chest. As the music picked up they swung around each other, and Dean let out a drunken giggle. They sang at the top of their lungs, completely out of tune.

_Well, I know that you're in love with him_  
_'Cause I saw you dancin' in the gym_  
_You both kicked off your shoes_  
_Man, I dig those rhythm and blues_  
_I was a lonely teenage bronckin' buck_  
_With a pink carnation and a pickup truck_  
_But I knew I was out of luck_  
_The day the music died_

As the song played on, Dean was on top of the world. He didn't care that he fucked up the interview, or that the world had almost ended, or that he was so irrevocably messed up that he didn't think he'd ever feel okay. Right then, he let all worry melt away, all pretense and just _moved_. Soon his drunken mind started to see something else dancing in front of him, or perhaps _someone_ else. A tan coat swirling around, a deep hearty laugh and gummy smile. It was pathetic, Dean knew that somewhere deep down, but as the piano and guitar played excitedly behind him, he refused to let it get him down. He was going to enjoy himself while the song played, the entire world be damned.

_Oh, and while the king was looking down_  
_The jester stole his thorny crown_  
_The courtroom was adjourned_  
_No verdict was returned_  
_And while Lenin read a book on Marx_  
_A quartet practiced in the park_  
_And we sang dirges in the dark_  
_The day the music died_

As the song slowed down, Amy wiped the glistening tears that were not streaming down her face. Dean took her arms and they swayed from foot-to-foot, like two depressed teens who were ditched at the prom. They shared a sad smile, as the final verse played. Dean felt a little something slip away inside him - a sliver of his grief abated for a time.

_And in the streets the children screamed_  
_The lovers cried, and the poets dreamed_  
_But not a word was spoken_  
_The church bells all were broken_  
_And the three men I admire most_  
_The Father, Son and the Holy Ghost_  
_They caught the last train for the coast_  
_The day the music died_

As the bar sat in a moment of silence between songs, Amy mouthed a silent _thank you_ and Dean threw his arms around her, the pressure of her fingers digging into his back. The stood completely still for a moment, and Dean could feel the rise and fall of her breath against his chest.

The screech of electric guitar shredded through the silence and they parted, looking into each others eyes. Like a switch being flipped, they both started signing along to 'Rock You Like a Hurricane', playing air guitar and holding invisible microphones. They sang (or screamed) song after song, completely oblivious to the stares of the handful of patrons in the bar. Dean caught eyes with one of the bikers in the corner in the middle of 'I want it all', and found himself winking at the guy and shooting fingers guns in his direction. The man bristled at the exchange and didn't look at Dean again. He might have been embarrassed if he wasn't a dangerous combination of drunk and so completely _done_ with all of the shit the world had to throw at him.

After a particularly enthusiastic rendition of 'Back in Black', a tsunami of fatigue washed over Dean. He grabbed Amy's shoulder as she started singing the next song, and found himself leaning against her to avoid falling down. He could feel all that excitement and energy that he was burning through go out, like a match in a storm. The music started to grate at his newly-developing headache.

"Hey, do you want to get out of here?" He asked, and Amy nodded.

"I know a place."

* * *

They stumbled down the quiet side street, the low hum and bright lights of the town fading into the distance behind them. The sun peaked over the horizon, one thin amber line projecting a warm glow on the darkening streets. They had left the bar 10 minutes before, and Dean's arms were starting to shake in the cold. He felt a warm wooly sensation on the back of his neck, as the ends of a red scarf fell down his chest. He looked to Amy, who was wearing the matching red hat.

"I already have a coat and a hat, that suit doesn't look very warm." Dean wrapped the scarf around his neck, and the sweet scent of perfume wafted into his nostrils. He drew the scent in on a long cleansing inhale, feeling the cool air burn in his throat.

"Thanks." He said in a puff of condensation.

"What is it you do Dean? Before interviewing at a garage that is?" Dean winced, not exactly small talk material.

"I- uh, used to work for my Dad. He died a long time ago and I kept up the family business ever since." Dean could see her staring at him in his peripheral vision, as his eyes focused on the line of dim orange streetlamps ahead.

"Why did you decide to leave then, if you've done this for so long?" Dean huffed, that was the million dollar question.

"To be honest, I wanted out for a long time - just never got a chance like this before. And after my fr-after Cas, I guess I realised that things can change in an instant. No time like the present right? Besides, I realised that if I don't keep going, then it was all for nothing." Dean said, his voice getting quieter. Amy turned her head to the sky and blew a cloud of steam from her mouth, watching it swirl in the dead evening air before disappearing into the darkness.

"Tell me about your friend Cas, what was he like?" Dean turned to her, a little taken aback by the question. She continued to stare into the sky. Dean followed her vision seeing the stars as they begun to emerge from behind the blaze of the setting sun. Dean smiled, thinking about their many conversations under the stars.

"He was… _is_ my best friend. You know… I never had friends growing up - we moved around too much for that. Besides, my childhood was… rough, so it was hard to identify with the kids who had the normal, white-picket-fence life." Dean's chest ached, that deep-seated feeling of loneliness never truly left him, it was part of his DNA. "For the longest time it was me and my brother against the world, especially after my Dad died. Even so, he was never around enough when he was alive.

"Then Cas came into the picture and he was willing to lose everything to help us. Before I knew it he was just… part of our family." A wave of happy memories washed into his mind, and he smiled. "He loved nature, especially insects and flowers. He was kind of a nerdy guy, didn't get pop culture and hadn't seen any of the best movies- of course I made him sit down and watch them all. He was…." Dean bit his lip, "he was a great father - and both of us knew how shit fathers could get," he let out an empty chuckle, and didn't bother trying to wipe away the hot tear that flowed down his cheek. "I didn't realize how much I needed him around until he was gone. I took him for granted a helluva lot - said some pretty terrible things to him recently and somehow he was still there after it all. He didn't see me like everyone else did, or even how I saw myself. Makes me want to be the kind of person he thinks I am, be a better man…" Dean felt his cheeks burn at his own words, but they slipped out before he could censor himself - no doubt something to do with the whiskey. "He used to be a soldier, but he was never really a killer, not at heart. He was a lover, he loved people…" he couldn't say the last part aloud, _because of me_. He felt a hand grip his arm and looked to see Amy, who gave an understanding look.

"He sounds like an impressive guy." Dean nodded, and finally wiped his tear-stained cheek.

"He was. Tell me about your girlfriend." They started walking again and Dean tightened the scarf as a cold breeze blew past. Amy smiled, and her eyes glazed over, travelling back in time.

"Becca…she was hot." Dean shot her a raised eyebrow, what a place to start. Amy laughed and smacked his arm. "Don't look at me like that, she was a real fox, couldn't believe she'd want to date someone like me. But she'd also kick your ass in a heartbeat. She was smart, was studying for her masters in political science when she…" Amy grimaced and quickly moved on. "She loved to cook, and was _damn_ good at it too, she could make the most amazing Pad Thai you've ever had." She stopped and smiled and soon it grew into something warmer, gentler, and beaming with love. "Do you know how I knew I loved her?" Amy asked, her gaze piercing right through Dean.

"How?"

"Just before our 6 month anniversary, we went back to my hometown. I had come out to my family to _varying_ success years before, but most of the people in the town still didn't know. I was nervous walking around town with her. She was the first girlfriend I brought home, and middle America can be a cruel place." She started toying with the sleeve of her jacket, staring down at her hand. "When we arrived I warned her to keep the PDAs to a minimum. But, as soon as we left the car she told everyone we met - shopkeepers, restaurant servers, people on the street who looked for too long - that I was _her girlfriend_. She had no shame about loving me, I wished I could have been as brave as she was. I always spent too much time worrying about the opinions of everyone else, when she was all that mattered in the end." Dean let out a soft sigh. There was a certain kind of bravery in facing a vamp or a demon, sure, but that always came easy to Dean. He got used to being a little bit scared all the time on hunts. But, being able to say what you really feel, show it off to the world like an open book, that was the kind of bravery Dean never learned. Frankly, it scared him shitless.

Cas' shaking voice played in his mind.

_'Happiness isn't in the having, it's in just being. It's in just saying it.'_

He grimaced, maybe Cas was right, maybe there was happiness in saying it. His hands clenched into fists, his fingers digging into the skin of his palms. Nothing he could say would ever bring Cas back - that didn't sound like happiness.

Amy stopped and pointed to something behind him. Dean turned to see a twisted wrought iron archway with the words _St Jude's_ _Cemetery_. A short grassy path joined the cemetery gate to the road, and the graves stretched out into the darkness beyond the halo of the streetlights. Dean let out a chuckle.

"You know, when you said 'I know a place', I didn't think you meant the cemetery." Amy rooted in her pocket and produced a small keyring flashlight. When she clicked it, a surprisingly bright beam of white light shot from it. She gave Dean a sardonic smile.

"I always visit the cemetery on a first date." Dean laughed, and followed her as she pushed the creaking metal gates open. By all accounts the cemetery was empty, the tops of the graves barely marked by the dim light of the almost set sun. Amy marched ahead until they came upon a grave covered in flowers. They all looked to be fresh. Dean walked up beside her and read the name on the grave.

**REBECCA SCHWARTZ**

**1985-2019**

**GONE BUT NEVER FORGOTTEN**

Amy put her hand on the gravestone, and caressed it.

"When she died, her parents took over the funeral arrangements. They hadn't spoken to her in years. Gave her the full Catholic send off. I was banned from the church of course, but I still came here when they buried her. She deserved to have at least one person there who really gave a shit about her. You can imagine how that went down - though I had the pleasure of hitting her mother across the face."

"Wow." Dean replied, genuinely impressed. Amy laughed.

"Yeah, I thought my family was bad until Rebecca told me about hers. The control, the manipulation, the _beatings…_ " Dean felt a shiver run down his spine, and the ache of long healed wounds. "That wasn't a family, _we_ were a family, Becca and me." Amy said, as she knelt on the grass in front of the grave.

"Someone important once told me, 'family don't end with blood'. I don't know if I fully understood it at the time, but I do now." Dean said and joined Amy in the grass, as icy cold water soaked into the knees of his trousers. For a few moments they knelt beside each other in silence.

"Hey Becca, I came to visit just like I said I would." Amy said to the grave. "This is Dean by the way, picked him up at the bar." Dean smiled, and gave a small wave to the stone slab. "It's been a year already, I can't believe you've been gone that long." Dean felt his stomach drop as she spoke. Would this be him in a year, 5 years, 10 years - talking to an empty stone slab, caught in an endless cycle of grief and longing. Amy continued to speak, but it was muffled behind a thick fog. Dean looked down on his now trembling hands, when he heard Amy mention Cas'name.

"…lost someone he cared about too, his name was Cas. Do you think I should tell him?" Dean's heart skipped.

"Tell me what?"

"That you're so obviously in love with this guy." Amy said plainly. Dean's heart stopped.

"Wha- I…no you-" Dean stuttered.

"Wow that was a really convincing denial." Amy said, crossing her arms and grinning. Dean's face flushed red hot, and his ears were on fire. "Would it be so wrong if you were?" Dean kept his eyes trained on the grass by his knees, pulling it out of the ground blade by blade. His hand stopped as the question sunk in. There wasn't anything wrong with a man loving another man, but Cas was his best friend. Sure, he was one the most important people in his life, but that's what a best friend was - someone you could count on, someone who would always be around when you needed them. Someone who had seen the worst of you and still wanted to stick around. It wasn't like that.

_Was it?_

He opened his mouth, and felt his heart shake with thunderous fury as he spoke. It wasn't what he wanted to say ( _Cas and me? We were just buddies!_ ), but he couldn't stop himself from asking.

"How would you know, if it was… _that?_ " He avoided her gaze, stomach burning. Amy let out a gentle sigh and he felt her warm hand on his shoulder.

"In my experience, if you have to ask that - it means you already kind of know." Dean looked at her, feeling the sting of tears in his eyes. What if he did _feel_ that way, what would that mean? That would mean he never got to tell Cas the truth, because he figured it out too late. It would mean that Dean would have to live knowing he missed his chance. His mouth started to dry up. It was too much, and his shoulders started to feel heavy. Amy gave him a sad smile and stood up, giving her hand to him.

"It's getting late, we should go somewhere that isn't a cemetery." Dean grabbed her hand and stood. As they left Amy turned and blew a quick kiss at the grave.

"Until next time Becca."

They walked to the gate of the cemetery in silence, and Dean's body was vibrating. He tried to quell his shaking hands in his pockets but it was no use. As they walked under the black archway, he heard a familiar sound rumbling up the road. It was still at least a mile away down the long lane, but he would recognize the front of the impala anywhere. He grabbed his phone and clicked on the screen.

_15 missed calls (Sam)_

_"_ Shit." He said, and Amy peered at the screen.

"Nothing good comes from that many missed calls." Dean grimaced, she was right about that.

"It's my brother - and that's him driving my car towards us. We can give you a ride back to your place." Amy shook her head and took out her own phone, tapping the screen quickly.

"It's ok - I'll call a cab. Besides, I could do with some alone time." Amy said and Dean looked around the dimly lit street, well away from the center of town.

"It's pretty remote out here, you shouldn't stay here alone." Amy scoffed at him and ripped her scarf from his neck.

"I'll be fine."

The impala's engine roared, as the car was only a few hundred yards away - it's high beam headlights sending a pillar of blinding light through the dark night air. Dean looked at Amy, and relented.

"Gimme your phone." She handed it to him and he quickly typed his number in. "Text me when you get home safe." He thrust the phone at Amy, who smiled at the number on the screen.

"Okay, I'll text. Maybe I'll see you around, Dean." She said and begun to walk away.

"See you around." He replied, and gave her a wave.

The impala screeched to a halt and Sam was out on the street in two seconds flat. He looked furious.

"What the hell are you doing? I've been trying to call you all evening! Had to track your damn phone!" Sam looked genuinely worried, and Dean's stomach clenched in guilt.

"Sorry man, just got a bit carried away." Dean said and Sam sighed, his face softening.

"It's okay, I was just worried."

Dean grabbed the driver side door and got in. The engine roared to life and Sam seemed to get quiet as he drove back to the bunker. His fingers were gripping the wheel hard enough to turn white, and his shoulders were tense. Dean felt his stomach drop, something was wrong.

"Whatever it is man, spit it out." He snapped and Sam's eyes flickered towards him. He sighed and pulled to the side of the road.

"Why are you stopping?" Dean asked. Sam turned to him, his brow furrowed deep. Dean swallowed, as a lump rose in his throat. Sam rubbed his hands through his hair and sighed.

"Don't get mad at me."

"That's a surefire way to make me angry, Sam. Out with it!" Dean said, feeling the panic rise in his chest.

"I set up an alert on the system Charlie set up - for signs of Cas."

"You what?" Dean snapped, and Sam held out his hands in surrender.

"Look, I don't know why I did it - guess I had some small hope that he would show up again like before. I just used some keywords - his name, trench coat, blue eyes, angel and a few others." Sam looked at the steering wheel, lost in thought for a moment. "I know I told you that there was nothing to be done; I guess I didn't want to believe it either. But…" He trailed off.

"But what?" Dean asked, his chest so tight it hurt to breathe.

"At 2pm, I got an alert."


End file.
